The Cross And The Switchblade
by Black Waltz 0
Summary: [WA3] Thirty years ago, a man was born named Clive Winslett. His life was never an easy one, filled with both good times and bad, with laughter and suffering. This is his adventure. This is his story.
1. Prologue

The Cross And The Switchblade

A Wild Arms III Fanfiction By:

Black Waltz 0

A/N: This will probably end up being the second fic in a series of epic WA3 fanfictions. This one deals with Clive's life story, from his sixth year of life all the way up to the beginning of the game itself. This fic is recommended for a mature audience, though, because it details life in Little Twister without sugarcoating the events. I'm talking drugs, implied sex, both het and yaoi, foul language and a lot of crime. The title itself was taken from David Wilkerson's famous novel, and I apologise for it's usage. I also don't own WA3 either, only my original characters. This is set a month and a half after Lust Jaw, in it's aftermath. (Beware the spoilers!) Enjoy!

xxx

Baskar colony, home of one of the most ancient religious practices in all of Filgaia. The sun was high in the sky at the approach of noon, though the comparative coolness of the winter season took the edge off the high temperatures of a usual Filgaian day. The center square of the town was decorated with flowers and hardy plants from the Zenom mountains, holly and ivy taken from the bushes and trees, and, hanging above the archway, the entranceway of the town, sprigs of mistletoe dangled down and bared their pure white flowers, replacing the hawk feathers usually claiming that space. In the center of the town, upon a great flat stone used for conferences and a dancing stage for the Baskar people, a large pine tree had been placed there and decorated with trinkets belonging to the townsfolk, making it glitter under the light from the sun. It was in the middle of December, the heart of winter, only a few more days before the celebration of Christmas.

Everybody was there, all the friends and loved ones of the Maxwell Gang, congregating in the little colony for the annual solstice celebration. Halle and Shane had organised the entire thing alongside all the other people of Baskar, the former not hesitating to reprimand Gallows for his lack of assistance. Virginia's guardians, her Uncle Tesla and Aunt Shalte had readily responded to the invitation and took the train from Southfarm over to the Midlands, wishing to spend their Christmas with their niece. Likewise, Catherine and Kaitlyn were also there, nothing could keep them away from Clive at such a special occasion. The Maxwell Gang had agreed that though they wanted to spend the solstice with all their families, they also didn't want to spend it apart from one another. So why not, and this was surprisingly Gallows's idea, why not just gather all the families together and just have one great big bash, instead of three smaller ones?

So that was what they did, and this was the day for their celebration. Gallows and some of the other Baskars were working as the orchestra, the big Baskar leading it with his trusty ukulele and two Kramer dolls, acting as the trumpet and the drums. They were playing a merry little tune, one that Kaitlyn was dancing to on the stage and laughing happily, trying to make her cousin Annette dance with her. Halle had dressed the girls up in a pair of traditional Baskar frocks, and Kaitlyn had tied feathers into both her own hair and Annette's. Pike was leaning on his crutches and watching them, having been invited by Jet, seeing as he had no family and not many friends to consider. Tesla and Shalte were sitting next to Catherine on their knees, just listening to the beautiful music instead of participating in the dance. Virginia and Jet were sitting with Shane and quietly chatting, the latter much more than the former. Halle was presiding over the celebration as town elder, a smile creasing her aged face. Kestorael sat perched on the entranceway, trying to eat the decorations.

Gallows paused in his music-making for a few moments, his Kramer dolls freezing as well. He smiled goofily and waved to the audience, trying to gather their attention. "I'm here all week! Try the fish!" He announced to the crowd, eliciting groans from the older members of the party that understood the joke. Cordell swatted at him with the bow from his fiddle, but Gallows ducked and artfully moved away, resuming his performance a sizable distance from the others. Ellen started to sing some kind of song meant for the occasion, and the woman did have a fairly impressive voice, deep and full.

Some chickens were mulling about on the grass, clucking softly and pecking at the ground for worms. The two girls on the stage jumped off and started to chase them for amusement, giggling like they had not a care in the world. Pike sat down and stretched himself out on the grass, closing his eyes. It felt like a perfect day, an excellent day, and one that anybody would hardly want to end. Kestorael fluttered over and sat on Pike's stomach, cawing loudly when Annette made a dive for the wind sprite with outstretched hands. Pike yelped when the girl landed on his stomach, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. "Sorry!" The girl explained, hastily scrambling to her feet. "I miscalculated my move. Kestor! Come back here!" The bird had hopped away and was making his exodus on the ground, leading Annette on a little chase. Kaitlyn appeared and took her older cousin by the hand with a smile, the two beginning their game once more.

"I cannot believe that in only a few more months I will finally undergo my coming of age ceremony!" Shane exclaimed happily to Jet and Virginia, the youth smiling openly and freely. "And then, after that, I will be allowed to leave this colony and see the world for myself! I just cannot wait! Of course, I will not forsake this colony and my lineage and destiny, but I still would like to go and gain some world experience, so I can have a better idea about the things I am protecting, and the things I love the most."

Jet closed his eyes and looked away. "…Be willing to back up all that big talk with some substance before you leave. Make sure you can at least defend yourself before you go rushing into the unknown." Shane nodded and smiled at this advice, knowing that Jet talked from experience and that his words were wise and filled with past experiences. It was true that Jet had no distant memories of himself as a person, but the recent ones that he had gathered in the Maxwell Gang were just as important and special. "Because if you find yourself in a situation you can't get out of, talking and praying ain't always gonna save your ass."

Virginia didn't refute or contradict his words in any way, because she knew that the silver-haired boy was indeed right. If she had learnt anything from her own fledgling time, it was that show and substance were both two very separate and very different things, and that one needed both to survive out there in the wastelands. If you could survive long enough, then the experience gained would keep you alive through the very worst of predicaments.

Thinking about this triggered something in her memory and Virginia turned to Catherine, her hands in her lap. "How has Clive been doing lately? We haven't really seen him as much as we would've liked to this month, and well, I've been a little worried about him. Is he okay?" It was still a bit of a delicate subject to discuss, and it had been dubbed 'The Incident' by the other people around him. Clive had been on sporadic drifting jobs with the rest of the Maxwell Gang for the past month and a half, but overall, he spent most of his time home in the East Highlands, back at Humphrey's Peak. Clive seemed to be fine whenever Virginia saw him, but she still couldn't help but feel worried about the man, and wondered how he had coped with everything that had happened.

Catherine smiled warmly, and, Virginia noticed, a little bravely. "He is as well as can be expected." She replied. "He does have a little bit of trouble maintaining a human shape during the full moon, so he has decided not to even try. He is harmless though, quite docile, and he spends most of his time sleeping. Other than that, he is just like the way he used to be. Actually, he was talking about being well enough to go back to his work full-time, provided that the rest of your team has no qualms about it."

"Of course we have no qualms about it," Virginia reassured her, "There simply _couldn't_ be a team without Clive's help and input. All of us have missed his presence terribly." Pausing, Virginia looked around, wondering exactly where the green-haired man was. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't really seen him around since early that morning. He had been rather quiet, but still quite friendly. "Speaking of that," Virginia said, scanning the crowd of people outside their houses and in the main area of the colony, "Where _is_ Clive? He isn't avoiding us, is he?"

"I do not think so." Catherine replied warmly. "He was feeling a little restless this morning and decided to go for a walk. He promised that he would be back before dark. He probably felt like training, and large crowds make him somewhat uneasy. Truthfully, though," She leaned forward a little towards Virginia, smiling, "I do hope he gets back soon. There is something most serious that I need to discuss with him."

"About what?" Virginia asked, intrigued.

"About many things." Catherine answered. "About life, and what the future will hold for all of us. Have you noticed that the days are becoming cooler? This cannot be merely the simple change of the seasons. Hopefully, and this is a tiny hope, mind you, but hopefully a new life is rising from within this world, one that the demon war couldn't take away. I may just be rambling, but… I have believed that there is always a light shining within the darkness."

"The light of hope?" Virginia pressed.

"Indeed," Said Catherine. "Hope."

xxx

When Clive struck the balloon creature with a small burst of dark power gathered from his Lust Jaw, it did not have the desired effect that he wanted and only made the creature more powerful, causing the swordsman to step back and rethink his attack plan. Clive clenched his open spellcasting hand and gripped his blade once more, biting his lip. Then, he ran forward and sliced the monster in two with a clean vertical cut, the spherical beast deflating like a bubble that had been soundly popped. There had been only air inside it's mottled pouch of skin, and now that it had been ruptured, the monster was dead. Clive sighed and lowered his sword, his breathing only a shade deeper than normal, wiping the beads of sweat from his face caused by the battle.

He sheathed his sword and took out a small notebook that fit snugly into the palm of his hand, along with a pencil, jotting down a few words. Clive sighed. "The monster population is decreasing rapidly from the change in Filgaia's environment. With the recent climatic change created by the resealing of Hyades and the death of Beatrice and the Prophets, this could be thought of as an improvement, but…" Only a regular person could think something like that. As a drifter, and as a medium for one of the Guardian Lords, Clive had an inkling that Filgaia's new reality would seem to be just as treacherous. "Though the population is decreasing, existing breeds of monster are becoming more adverse and resilient, and are even increasing in size. This cannot possibly be a good thing."

Clive quickly checked the location of the sun, recognising it's place as midday. That was good, he wanted to be back at Baskar before the sun decided to set. The drifter started to walk again in a quiet and thoughtful way, traversing through the Midlands like an idle nomad. He was heading south, towards the Fallen Sanctuary, having some business there that he needed to complete. The wounds from his last big commission had healed well over the time he had taken off from work and didn't bother him anymore, though he still had a few tiny scars here and there as small reminders. Things had been quiet, and Virginia and the others had begun to travel again without him, though this didn't disturb him at all. When the time came for him to continue his work, he knew that he would always have a place to return to as a member of the Maxwell Gang.

"And loyalty to the gang is absolute, right guys?" He asked nobody, glancing up at the sky, his sensible and somewhat refined accent roughing up just a little bit to allow a slight southern dialect. Clive chuckled to himself as he looked back at terra firma, seeing the monument of the Fallen Sanctuary looming in the distance. He had left the party early because he freely admitted to himself that I didn't much like large crowds anymore, or so many people staring at him and his mutation, whispering behind his back. His cover story for his recent changes had been that he had infiltrated a Guardian shrine and had been cursed by that Guardian into a different physical shape, which had been the loose truth, but not the whole truth. Because of this, he had lost a few casual friends, but it didn't really matter, giving Clive a chance to find out exactly who his real friends were.

Pushing the great doors of the sanctuary open with a small grunt, a rush of stale air struck him in the front and smelt of dust and age itself, causing the green-haired demon to cough momentarily, raising a hand to cover his mouth. He wondered vaguely if it was right for him to come out here all alone, and whether or not the others would berate him for doing so. This place was washed out with sand and filled to the brim with solitude, Clive had the feeling that if he even talked too loudly in here, some kind of God would come down and yell at him for his insolence

He ascended the staircase which led to the upper open area of the shrine, a few of the steps nearly crumbling under his feet. Clive tried to step lightly, but it really didn't help much anyway. Sunlight was streaming through the opening into the shrine as Clive walked through it, the fresh air much more enjoyable than the stale kind wafting throughout the lower levels. The four monoliths representing the four Guardian Lords stood tall and unmoving in each of their respective locations, north-east, north-west, south-east and south-west. He faced the northeastern one, branded with a carving of an animal claw, the sigil of Luceid, the Guardian of desire. Clive smiled. "It is quiet here. I prefer the quiet. I just did not feel like being around people today, do you think that that feeling is a selfish one?" All Clive received was silence. He did not expect anything more.

Clive did not have Jet around to help him ascend the high ledge that required one of Jet's important tools to scale, so he instead strode over to it and placed both his hands upon the ledge, pushing down on it to lift his own weight up. Swinging one leg onto the ledge, he used it as a lever and hauled the rest of his body up as well. He could hear some tiny little birds chirping on top of the ancient monolith, breaking the silence somewhat and making it less overwhelming. "Filgaia will be green and healthy again in a few centuries, as long as it's rate of recovery does not slow down or be halted. Does this mean that what we have accomplished will be the entirety of our mission, or will there be something more? I just do not know. It almost saddens me to think that this is the full extent, the end of the line to which my journey has taken. Will this… be everything?"

__

I know what you have… Clive's inner self told him smugly. _A pretty little mid-life crisis wrapped up with some post-traumatic stress disorder._ _How sad. Boo hoo. You're not who you used to be anymore. You're different. You've grown up._

Ignoring his own thoughts, Clive changed the subject, taking a seat in front of the giant desire edifice. "I do not know if you can hear me, Luceid, but I need to talk to somebody who will not talk back. I hope you can listen to me. I had a discussion with Halle the other day, regarding my… incident. The Baskar priesthood wants to keep me under loose observation for the next few years, in case I do anything to jeopardize Filgaia's future. I do not wish to deny them this request, however I am not too enthusiastic on the prospect of being studied like a lab specimen for such a long period of time." Clive sighed, then smiled. "Halle has also informed me that I am no longer a lycanthrope. It seems I am a werewolf instead. I did not think there was a difference, but I did research the subject last month in the Ark of Destiny's library, using an alias to prevent suspicion from arising. A lycanthrope assumes a partial form. A werewolf assumes a total form." He chuckled quietly. "How amusing. It should make my life interesting, nonetheless."

"Still," Clive continued, leaning back, putting his weight onto his hands, "I cannot help but think about the path that my life has followed, such an unexpected path that I never would have undertaken if under different circumstances. By all rights, if it were not for Catherine and Berlitz, I would most definitely be one of your run-of-the-mill cutthroats or ruffians, or dead, either way. I learnt so much from the both of them, and I tried, so very hard, to make something of myself. My goal had always been to be more than what I was, to be, if not legendary, then to be no less than a great remembrance to all." He smiled almost bitterly. "But when I was born, I was nothing. I was less than nothing. Both my parents wanted me to die."

Clive heard an animal bark, and he turned around slightly, his right hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his sword. He relaxed though when he noticed the originator of the sound, the small brown and white hound from Baskar colony padding up the steps, it's fuzzy little tail waggling happily back and forth. "Oh, so you followed me?" Clive said with a relieved sigh, "I thought you were a monster." The animal cocked it's head to one side and barked again, a little louder than before. "You were following me?" Clive translated from the dog's speech, "Well, I only came here for the peace and quiet, not much more. It is okay, girl. You can come and sit up here with me, if you want."

The dog stretched itself forward a bit in a small little bow and yapped, then happily bounding up the ledge and jumping into Clive's lap. The green haired man patted the animal softly on the head, letting out a deep exhalation of breath. "I should really be more social." Clive told himself a little sternly. "I should not even be here. I should be with the others, celebrating." The dog whined in question, looking up at the drifter with curious eyes. "You want to know what I am so troubled about?" Clive said. "Nothing much, really. I am just thinking about the past." Barking again, the dog nuzzled his front and whimpered. "I understand," Clive replied, "You are right. Talking about it does indeed help. And also, I suppose, having somebody to listen is also equally helpful. Good girl, good girl."

He rested his hand on the dog's back and noticed that it's light brown fur was tangled with burrs and other nasty things, which seemed quite irritating if not downright painful to the poor beast. Clive started to gently pull them out, one by one, thinking deeply at the same time. "My story begins way back when I was a little child, no wait, probably even earlier than that. I was born in Little Twister, and my mother had been a local prostitute, while my father was probably one of her many commissions. I am not one hundred percent sure on this, but this is what I believe to be true. A few days after I was born, I was left all bundled up on a cliff-top near the town, to be exposed to the elements until I was meant to die. I did not die however, I was picked up by a small group of people who took care of me for a while, but after that, I was passed around a lot and lived in many different homes and places. I was named Clive, in the old english tongue which meant _cliff-dweller_. I have no idea what my real name was meant to be."

Clive closed his eyes. "My earliest memory that I can consciously recall would have to be when I was about six years old, perhaps even a little younger than that. It was a very important day for me, I suppose. It was the day that I met Berlitz for the very first time. Looking back on it now, it is probably one of the most fondest memories I can recall…"

He slipped into nostalgia, and then his story began.


	2. What's Yours Is Mine!

__

Many, many years ago…

Berlitz Erdesparen checked his shiny gold pocket watch, trying to ascertain the current point in time without having to risk straining his eyes by looking at the sun for guidance. It was near dusk on a sunny, hot road in the center of Little Twister, the middle-aged man strolling casually down the street and trying his best to stay under the shaded areas of buildings as much as he possibly could. Putting the small golden trinket back into his pocket, Berlitz tightened his grip on his sizable suitcase and continued on his way towards the Crossfire Inn, where he had earlier booked himself in for a short little stay.

He was a fairly stout individual and dressed himself well, giving others the image of a stately and well-to-do businessman. He was not as rich as he outwardly seemed to be, but made enough to keep himself comfortable and was never in any serious debt or financial distress. Berlitz prided himself in his title as 'Professor of ancient neo-sapient history and archaeology', and it was his job and duty to gather and process as much information as possible, and bring light into such mysteries buried in the past. It was his reason for being in the seedy town of Little Twister in the first place, as he was following up a lead of information that spoke of buried ruins hidden somewhere outside of the town's radius. He had traveled all the way from the Eastern Highlands to see if this rumor was indeed correct, even going so far as to bring the remainder of his family along for the ride.

He had checked in with the main archaeological branch of the Little Twister university near the finer side of town to confirm that he did indeed belong here, then, after a long day of travelling to this remote frontier location, Berlitz was looking forward to a nicely brewed cup of tea with some biscuits, alongside the evening paper. His daughter Catherine would be in the Crossfire and waiting for him, probably reading up on some of the small little books she had brought with her from her home. Berlitz made a mental note to help her with her reading tonight, if he had the time. But before that, as soon as he got to his inn room, he would take off his boots and just relax. Smiling at that comforting thought, he picked up his pace a little and crossed the street, passing the Honey of Roses as he did so.

For what it was worth, today had been a pretty good day.

xxx

Not too far away from where Berlitz was walking, but also obscure enough to not be noticed, a small crowd of people had gathered on top of a nearby rooftop, five in all, just sitting around and doing nothing of particular interest. The day was near it's closing, and people were going home from their work (or lack of work), and likewise, to all people, dusk was the time of day for gentle relaxation. They had a better view from on high and could see the area around them easily, and along with that, it concealed their location from all the ground-dwelling people of the town and made them feel a lot safer. There were four boys and one girl, the latter sitting comfortably on the chimney with the youngest of the group in her lap. Beside her was an older boy sitting cross-legged near the top of the slope of the roof with his eyes closed, and not too far away from him another was on his back and lying upside down, so he was receiving a view of Little Twister the wrong way up. Finally, the last one was a little way away from the rest of the group, with his hands busy doing a menial little job involving a knife. They were just hanging out, as all children tend to do.

They were the Black Shuck Gang, and damn proud of it too.

The boy sitting the furthest away from the others was humming happily, and at the same time, carving something out of a thick chunk of wood. It looked to be in some kind of vaguely human shape, like a small featureless doll without much distinction. The boy was working on the head now, scraping away thin curls of wood every time he applied his small knife to the piece of timber. The curls were catching in the soft breeze and blowing away, which was a good thing because the boy at work didn't have to clean it up himself. The knife he was using was very sharp, and looked to be very well cared for, however the owner of the knife was young, seeming to be five or six years old at a quick estimation. He was dressed in raggedy street clothes, and was also barefoot, with slight scratches and healed cuts all over his body. He was also smiling, absorbed in his work. He was humming an old drifter song at the same time, but only knew one or two verses of notes, so he repeated them on a constant near-infuriating loop. The other boy who was lying upside down was quietly singing the words to the tune, at the same time keeping watch on their surroundings.

"_The drought is down on field and flock, the river-bed is dry; And we must shift the starving stock before the cattle die. We muster up with weary hearts at breaking of the day, and turn our heads to foreign parts to take the stock away. We cannot use the whip for shame on beasts that crawl along; We have to drop the weak and lame and try and save the strong. The wrath of God is on the track, The drought fiend holds his sway; With blows and cries and stockwhip crack we take the stock away._"

When the first boy stopped humming, invariably the second boy stopped singing. He held up the small doll a little, turning it around and inspecting it in the dusty light. It needed some nice doll clothes, but he didn't know how to stitch, only carve. That part was not his job anyway, but he was pleased on how the doll's shape had managed to turn out. Some buttons could be glued on to make eyes, and yellow felt could also be applied to create the effect of hair. A mouth could easily be drawn on too, and with the proper miniature clothing, the doll would be completed. It wasn't nearly as good as a store-bought china figurine, but still suitable nonetheless. He hoped that whoever he gave the toy to would properly appreciate it.

The group watch detected a little bit of movement coming from the street and rolled over to get a right-side-up view, pressing his hands down against the slightly aged wooden roofing planks and leaning forward a little for a better glance. Quietly, he watched Berlitz walk by the building with an involuntary pompous air, carrying with him two moderately heavy suitcases, the slight glint of gold from one of his pockets catching in the sun. The watch's gaze slowly followed Berlitz's movements until the middle-aged man was out of sight, then he released the tension in his arms and leant back onto the rooftop once more. Taking a few seconds to process this information, he turned around and looked at the boy furthest away from him, adding the final finishing touches to the wooden doll's body. "Missanga," Said the watch, "I just saw a big fat pigeon waddle by. He looked pretty expensive too." Pointing in the direction that Berlitz had taken, he added, "That way, see?"

Missanga looked up from his carving. "A dumb one?" He asked, his sharp knife glinting slightly in the sun.

The watch nodded. "By the looks of it. He had his hands full. How much dumber can you get, right? But I did see some gold on him, in his pockets, I think. He is going down the main road, you should check it out." Taking the advice, Missanga stood up, prompting the rest of the group to do the same. The gap between buildings was rather small and unnoticeable and it was no more than child's play for the small group of children to follow the direction that the watch had pointed out, jumping the little gap with ease, the youngest of the group having to be picked up and carried, however, because he was too small.

All five of them leant down against the next roof now, leaning over the edge, unconsciously lining up in order from smallest to largest. Missanga was somewhere in the middle. Berlitz was still making his merry little way towards the inn, sublimely ignorant of the many eyes at his back. The glint of gold from his pocket continued to catch in the sun every few seconds, and the group of children watched it like a hungry hawk sizing up it's prey. The biggest and strongest boy in the group spoke up, his low and slow voice slightly hindered by his large and powerful frame. "What number are we gonna work up on this one, Boss?" He said in a slow drawl.

"Something to take advantage of his inability to use his hands, I believe." Said the watch.

"Can I help?" Inquired the youngest one.

"No, you're too young." Said the female amongst the group.

"Well…" Said Missanga, thinking about what the others had said quietly, a hand on his chin. "How about we try the good 'ol fashioned hit an' run on him? That should work, don't you think? And if we have a problem, then we can all have a crack at it, eh? What do you say?" He turned towards the large boy sitting next to him, dwarfing everyone else with ease. "I'll need your help for this one, Mongo. Swanky, Cammie and LD, you're all support. You'se all know what to do, just do it like we've done before." The little boy grinned. "Let's take this old codger for all he's got!"

They all nodded at his direction, in agreement to Missanga's plan. Two of them jumped carefully off the roof into the small alleyway running along the side of the building, landing on a few waiting crates and then hopping down those to reach the sandy dusty ground. The other three dispersed along the rooftops, one heading in a certain direction while the other two took their own. Getting into position only took about a minute or so, and when they were ready, it would be time to begin the game. Mongo and Missanga kept to the back-alleys behind the buildings, the smaller of the two stepping into the sunlight enough to keep a general idea of where Berlitz was in comparison to their own location. Quite sure of their success, their plan began.

xxx

Berlitz politely put his suitcase down and tipped his hat at the deputy sheriff as he sauntered by, even though the lad barely even seemed to be out of his teenager years. The tin star he wore over his heart was still brand new and shining, and the youth still had the tiny little scars on his face caused by horrendous pubescent acne from many years ago. The law enforcer nodded back to him and continued on his way, most likely heading back to the sheriff's station no more than a few little blocks away. His patrol must have been completed without mishap. Berlitz smiled and picked up his suitcases again, taking a second to balance himself again, because the load was rather heavy for a man like himself, with no past requirements of him to increase his strength. He was almost at the inn, only a block or two away.

"HELP ME!"

He heard a child scream. It was high-pitched and obviously frightened, but it was the light tenor tone of a little boy, sounding to be only a little kid, no more than eight years old at the most. The old professor tensed and looked around for the source of the cry, wondering where it had come from. His ears weren't as good as they used to be, but he could have sworn that the sound had come from directly up the road, straight ahead. He didn't put down his suitcases and kept on walking, wondering what was wrong. This was a dangerous town, that was obviously true, but who on earth would get it in their minds to frighten small children?

"HE'S GONNA GET ME!"

Somebody screamed again, coming into view. A little boy was running down the street like the hounds of Hell were after him, constantly turning his head to look back behind him, where an even larger boy, a hulking brute of a child was close behind him, ten or twenty paces away. The expression on the bigger boy's face was a mask of seething rage, raw primal anger and fury, his large meaty fists clenched into thick hammers perfectly capable of beating the frailer boy black and blue. The larger boy said something obscene to his prey and mentioned how horribly he was going to destroy him, involving both a crowbar and a large chunk of cinderblock. The small boy squealed again in terror and pumped his legs faster to get away from his enemy, his breathing tearing and harsh. Berlitz watched them approach like a casual observer, vaguely telling himself that he should probably be getting out of the way.

But Berlitz was too late. The small child, too frightened out of his mind to watch where he was going, only focussing on getting as far away from his enemy as possible, collided with the middle-aged professor and nearly knocked him over, Berlitz just having the stability to stay on two feet. The boy bounced off his stomach and fell flat on his behind, his head spinning like a carousel. "Oh dear, I am so sorry." The professor said, taking the little boy's thin hand and hauling him back onto two feet. A small cloud of dust had risen when the boy had fallen, but it was settling when he looked up, fear bright in his icy blue eyes.

"Ohgeezi'msosorrysirbutigottagoorhe'llkillmenicetomeetyoubye!"

He was off like a shot again, hardly missing a beat. The larger boy passed Berlitz without a second glance, too caught up in his rage to slow down or even acknowledge the kindly old professor. Turning, he watched them run down the street like the entire world was ending. Children certainly were marvelous creatures in the way they could summon up such stamina at will. Berlitz chuckled a little, hoping that the small boy managed to get free. Still, his business was different to them and he had better be on his way to the inn. Patting his pocket again to find his gold watch and check the time, Berlitz suddenly froze.

And understood.

"My watch!" He cried, "That lad just took my watch!"

xxx

Missanga and Mongo were laughing like a bunch of merry idiots who had just robbed Fort Knox when they turned a sharp corner and disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alley, leaning up against the wooden wall of a general store and panting like they had won a marathon, the laughs mixed up with heavy breathing. Grinning, they high-fived each other, successful in their mission. Slowly and carefully, Missanga reached into his pocket and pulled out the beautiful glimmer of authentic gold, made in the shape of a stately pocket watch. He also had an expensive-looking wallet too, probably filled with plenty of money. "The tourists here… are so… so goddamn stupid!" He giggled, his sentence punctuated with steadying gasps. "Mongo… your angry face is… getting better… every single day!"

"So's your scared face!" Mongo replied, euphorically triumphant. "Man, it looked like you were gonna crap your pants at any minute then! We should become actors, huh?" Leaning over, doing this easily because he was much taller than Missanga, he got a good eyeful of the charming glint of gold. Mongo held his breath. He had _never_ seen anything so-expensive or shiny in his entire life. It was beautiful. The littler boy turned the watch over in his hands, noticing an engraved bit of text on the back. He couldn't read and had no idea what it meant, but he did know somebody who could, and he'd ask him about it later.

Another boy appeared and pinched the item from out of Missanga's hands, eliciting a startled 'Hey!' from both the large and small boy. This one was older than the both of them, and kept himself in an air of importance. Fumbling with the catch, he opened up the pocket watch and looked inside. The clock was a digital one instead of an analog timer, making it far more expensive than he would have originally expected. The gold was rather pure, though not spectacularly so, about twenty carats, and it's design suggested that it was rather old. The lid of the watch doubled as a picture frame, and a black-and-white photograph was kept behind a thin plate of glass, a picture of a little chestnut-haired girl, about three or four years old. The older boy blinked at it. "This is quite a find you have made, Missanga." He said, handing it back to his younger friend.

"You think so, Swanky?" Missanga replied, snapping the watch's lid closed with a thumb. He broke out into a smile. "We're gonna be eatin' well for _months_ now on this! I know a place where we can cash this in right now! Let's have a party after! Yeah!" He hopped up and down happily, but then Swanky and Mongo each took a hold of his shoulders and pushed him down again, into the dirt. Mongo sunk down with Missanga too, biting his lip. "What? What's wrong?" He asked, confused.

Swanky crept to the edge of the alleyway and looked outside of it, onto the main road. After a few seconds of uncertainty, he turned back towards the two culprits and looked grim. "You had best hide your stolen goods and get as far away from here are possible." He informed them gravely. "The man you robbed is looking for you nearby, and he has enlisted the help of the deputy sheriff as well. He is coming this way. Get out of here now! You too Mongo, you are an accomplice!"

Missanga didn't miss a beat. "Okay then! I'm outta here!" He grinned.

And he ran right onto the main road, in complete view of everybody.

Slapping a hand to his head, Swanky groaned loudly. "Idiot. It seems we have no choice. Mongo, tell Cammie and LD to get into their support places. Tell them that Berkley is hunting Missanga again!" Mongo nodded and ran the other way, into the giant network of back-alleys behind each of the buildings lining the main road. Swanky heard Missanga yelp and the unmistakable shout of Berkley roaring; 'Stop right there!' in his cracked pubescent voice and groaned again. Missanga was smart, but at times he was just, well, a dumbass.

Stepping into the light and onto the footpath, he watched the chase begin.

xxx

Berlitz was not a very good runner but managed to keep up with the younger deputy sheriff on sheer force of will alone, leaving his two suitcases where they were and chasing after the boy that had taken his wallet and watch away. It was a lucky break that Berkley had not been too far away, and had heard his cry of consternation, running to his aid. For a short while they had lost all track of the little scoundrel, but as luck would have it again, he appeared on the main road again and made a mad break for it, noticing that the two men after him were not too far behind. Berlitz's breath came in great puffing gasps and he knew that he couldn't do this for long, his heart couldn't take such a strain.

Turning again, the boy ran into the market part of Little Twister where stalls and makeshift stores were set up, the entire area a jumble of stock, wares and stacked up creates. He ducked behind a pile of them, hoping for cover, and the two men followed him, swerving out of the way when the stack lost it's stability and nearly tumbled onto them, which would have give both men a very nasty headache. Recovering after a second, they caught a glimpse of the boy crouching behind a chicken stall and advanced on them, Berkley kicking a wayward mini crate away. Behind the pile, Mongo snapped his fingers angrily and growled. Even though he had managed to tip the crates over, he had missed the both of them. The large boy shot Missanga a sorrowful look and Missanga shook his head as a reply, he had tried his best and didn't make it, but that was okay. He still had a chance.

Leaping over, under and around various stalls, Berkley was the only one with the stamina left to chase the small thief and he left Berlitz there to catch his breath and calm his heart, panting like a parched dog. He was a rather lithe youth and had been taught to be a good policeman quite well by his father, and that meant that he had been _trained_ for stuff like this. Missanga saw that his enemy had dwindled down to only one man and his heart felt a little lighter, hoping that that had increased his chances somewhat. Raising his fingers to his lips, he whistled once and prayed for the best.

Berkley was tackled to the ground by a furry mass of animal, a comparatively giant mongrel dog pinning him down and licking his face like it was made of the sweetest candy. It's grey shaggy fur smothered his face and stunk badly of stereotypical dog-smell, the animal's long bushy tail waggling hysterically and hitting him in the side. At first Berkley's sped-up mind thought that he was being mauled by some kind of wolf, but then he gathered his wits and pushed the animal aside, grumbling and getting to his feet. At once, as soon as it was touched, the dog stiffened like it had just been shot and keeled over onto it's furry side, whimpering pitifully and whining.

"Doggy! That man killed my doggy! How could you kill my doggy?! Why!?"

Immediately a child nearby burst into tears. Crying sadly, a young boy that was only a little older than a toddler stumbled over to the whimpering dog and flung himself into it, bawling. After a few moments, he started to howl in a tantrum mixed with mourning, a girl next to him getting to her knees and drawing the small boy into her arms. She looked up at Berkley with absolute hatred, stroking the younger child's hair carefully. "Ah nevah thought Ah'd see the day when a deputy goes outtah his way to kill an innocent animal and make a young-un cry! For shame! You mean, horrible man!"

Getting up and scratching the back of his head, Berkley was at a loss on what to say. "Well, I- ah, um… I'm sorry?" He garbled as an apology.

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it!" The girl screeched. "You just _killed_ Iyosuke's best friend!"

Hiding under an expensive-looking rug, Missanga breathed out a sigh of relief and crawled out of the way, glad that Cammie, LD and Lucy were buying him some time. Their act was becoming better than ever, he had never seen Iyosuke put up such a stunning tantrum as a performance before. And Lucy, well, she was one of the best trained dogs Missanga had ever had the pleasure of knowing. His enemy was divided now, he was almost in the clear. Crouching low and stepping out from behind a crate, Missanga felt his heart leap into his throat when he nearly walked _straight_ into Berlitz's field of vision. The old professor had caught his breath and was scanning the crowded marketplace area and looking for him, his greyish moustache twitching a little in annoyance.

In fact, the only reason Berlitz didn't see Missanga was because somebody had elbowed the small boy in the chest, sending him sprawling back into the shadows behind the crate again. He hit his head against the edge of the box and nearly cried out in pain, but bit his tongue just in time to save his own life. Swanky was now standing in front of the crate, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing forcedly like he had just been told a very droll joke, having just elbowed Missanga away. _Oh good,_ Missanga felt a surge of relief, _He's covering for me._

"Excuse me, sir!" Swanky called out to Berlitz, briskly walking over to the old man and forcing Berlitz's attention upon himself, trying to give Missanga a chance to escape. Taking the professor's arm, he turned Berlitz around carefully so that his back was facing where Missanga was, and his gaze safely away from the crate and it's hidden guest. Now all Swanky had to do was keep Berlitz's attention properly diverted. "I cannot help but notice that it looks like you are searching for something! Maybe I can be of some assistance to you?"

"Yes, that is right." Berlitz agreed, nodding. "I am looking for somebody. Have you seen him? He is-"

"Is he a young, thin looking boy?"

"Yes."

"About six or seven years old?"

"Yes, that's right!"

"Green hair, all messy and with shabby clothing?"

"Indeed!"

"Runs a lot?"

"Yes!" Berlitz cried, "Have you seen him?!"

"Nope!" Replied Swanky with a devilish grin. "Never seen him before in my life!"

Berlitz felt like screaming. Swanky rubbed his chin, cocking his head to one side. "I have noticed something, though. You seem to be lacking a watch. Do you want to buy one of mine?" He opened his dark grey jacket wide, smiling mischievously. Berlitz blinked, trying not to splutter. He had expected him to have all kinds of different watches pinned to the inside of his jacket, like a black market dealer, but instead his jacket was bare. He didn't even _have_ any watches to sell. Swanky looked down at his open jacket and then he blinked a few times. "Somebody stole all my watches! They are gone! Oh dear! Oh my! Sir!" He grabbed Berlitz's arm. "You have to help me find them again, please sir! They are my livelihood!"

Behind them, Missanga was trying his best not to collapse into a fit of sniggers, finding Swanky's acting to be beyond hilarious. _Damn it, you are a fucking smartass, Swanks!_ Standing up carefully, Missanga crept away from the crate, in full view of everybody. Taking careful and calculated steps, he began to sneak away from Berlitz, knowing that stalling the old man would not last forever. He had to fight back his laughter again when Swanky began to accuse Berlitz of stealing his watches and threatening to call his solicitor, but then, just when it looked like he was home free, somebody clubbed him over the back of the head with a dead fish and he fainted.

Berkley stood there, holding the dead fish in his hands, smiling triumphantly. A few moments later, the fish vendor kicked him in the shin and took back her wares, leaving the deputy sheriff moaning and hopping up and down on one foot. Missanga was lying comatose in the street, and all the other children were nearby in the area, watching what had happened quietly. Berlitz turned around and blinked, seeing his pocket watch and wallet lying beside the boy, having fallen out of his pocket when the boy had hit the ground. "This boy is under arrest for theft, evasion of the law and disrupting the peace." Berkley muttered, grabbing the boy by one arm and lifting him up. He didn't meet any resistance, he must have been truly unconscious.

"Oh dear…" Murmured Swanky. He whirled around and pointed in a random direction. "Everybody… SCATTER!"

They each disappeared in their own separate ways.

And Missanga was alone.

xxx

Half an hour later, the boy had woken up, but was none too pleased by his dreary surroundings.

The green-haired boy watched Berlitz eerily through the iron bars in his prison cell, his blue eyes like a glacier of ill intentions. In all truths, the boy was barely out of his toddler years and only a little lad, but he had fought like a crazed tiger when Berkley had thrown him into his cell, like he was being slated for a hanging, then and there. Now, he was just sitting calmly on the bench screwed to the dingy wall, in a cell that stunk of tobacco and urine. Berlitz's nose crinkled at the stench, it certainly wasn't a very nice place to be, especially for a little boy. He had been stripped of everything dangerous beforehand, the deputy sheriff having found a long and sharp switchblade in his pocket, some small razor blades in a leather satchel, a bag of powdered moss fungus poison, a metallic medallion, and half an eaten candy bar. Those items were now resting on Berkley's desk, except for the candy bar, which had been thrown in the bin.

Berkley ushered Berlitz into a nearby chair, but the professor saw that the boy's eyes were still trained intently on him, making him feel slightly uneasy. He had been given his golden pocket watch and his wallet back, but didn't like the idea of them being stolen all over again. Berkley wandered over to his desk and liberated a clipboard from it's bottom drawer, the archaeologist noting that it bore many sheets of written-on paper of varying ages, as could be told from the yellowed quality of some of the pages, and the coffee rings huddled in nearly every corner of the margin. Berkley cleared his throat. "Before we begin the questioning, would you like a cup of tea, sir? This may take a little while, and I'm obliged to offer you something because you are required to stay until the hearing is done."

Berlitz shook his head quietly, turning down the offer because if the room smelt so unclean and bad, how terrible would the tea turn out to be? He really didn't want to find out. Immediately after this, the boy in the prison cell got up and flung himself at the prison bars, grasping onto them like a primate in the zoo. His smile was imp-like, but also quite wicked and nasty. He put his face against the bars and glared at Berkley with spite. "I know!" He chirped as innocently as possible, then changed his tone so that it sounded like he was describing something incredibly delicious. "How about a nice warm cup of get me the fuck out of here?! Mmm-mmm! Sounds delish!" And after saying this, the boy removed one hand from the bars and flipped the bird at both present adults, summing up his feelings on being captured amply. Berlitz slightly narrowed his eyes. Where did children pick up these things, he wondered.

Glowering, Berkley flung open the doors to the prison cell and ripped the young boy away from the bars, forcing him onto the unfurnished wooden plank of a bed. Putting pressure on the kid's neck, he couldn't really do much more than squirm now, and curse. "Shut up, you miserable little turd!" He flung the clipboard with the notes onto the bed next to the boy. "You're gonna stay here for a while, you hear me, boy? We've been looking for you for a _long_ time! Twenty counts of theft, arson, vandalism and domestic violence! And those are only the _recorded_ ones! You'll rot, I say! Rot!" The boy let out a rebellious squawk, at the same time spitting out a word that a six-year-old _definitely_ shouldn't be aware of. Even Berlitz turned slightly red.

Standing up from the aged chair he was sitting in, Berlitz cleared his throat and held up his hands, in a warding gesture. "I'm sorry officer, but I just feel that I should offer my opinion on this. The lad is just a child, don't you think you're being a little harsh on him? I have gotten my watch and wallet back from him, and I do not want to press any charges. I want to say that I disapprove of your method of juvenile discipline. Throwing a child in jail is not going to help him at all. If anything, all it will do is fuel his already apparent contempt for the existing justice system in this town."

Berkley looked blankly at Berlitz, taking a small amount of time to process what the professor had just said. The boy went considerably limp and did the same, raising his head up from where it had been shoved against the wooden bed and blinking a few times. Berlitz then noticed that the kid had very icy blue eyes, making him appear far more innocent than he really was. The deputy finally spoke, loosening his hold on the boy momentarily. "You are… not from around here, are you?" He asked.

"Wow! Fuck-face here is so smart, ain't he?" Snickered the child saucily, bearing a grin like a small mischievous devil. Both his hands were pinned against his back by Berkley's hands, and the deputy forced them even further down at the remark, making the boy's spine ache somewhat. This didn't discourage him though. "Why, he's a regular gen-i-us, taking two whole years to catch 'an keep me!" His parochial southern accent hindered his pronunciation of some words, forcing him to sound them out loud. "An' you'd better give me back my missanga soon too, 'else it's robbery! It's mine! My missanga! Mine!" He started to squirm again, the possessive thoughts making him launch a secondary protest on his capture.

Berlitz nearly smiled at the boy's snide and somewhat amusing remarks. Luckily, he caught himself in time. "I believe," He began, "That this is a very crime-ridden town. There are many people here that are… contrary to those who are law-abiding citizens. I have also noticed that you are considerably understaffed and lacking the proper facilities used to contain such men. Keeping the boy here will waste valuable resources and a perfectly functional prison cell. Do you think that a few minor crimes come before ones that adults are committing on a more severe scale? I advise you to save your time for somebody who directly threatens his immediate environment. This offender that you have here is clearly a minor and not responsible for his actions. I think a warning would be more appropriate than incarceration." Berkley began to open his mouth but Berlitz cut him off. "If you disagree with me, then I must ask you a question. How much is the child's bail?"

The deputy sheriff wilted. "Five hundred gella." He said.

Berlitz nodded and took out his checkbook, cutting Berkley a check. Before he gave it to the other man, though, he walked towards the prison cell and knelt down enough to be at the correct level with the boy, unconsciously putting his free hand into his pocket to protect his golden watch. The boy stared back at him evenly, his cold blue eyes inquisitive and even a little curious. Berlitz put a hand over his mouth, smoothing out his greyish moustache. "Lad," He said, "You want to get out of here, don't you? Nod if you agree with me." Hesitantly, though eventually obediently, he nodded slowly, trying to avoid hitting his chin on the wooden surface beneath him. His unkempt mop of hair got into his eyes, so he blew away his fringe with a well-directed breath. The professor continued. "Well, I am sure that the only way you will be able to get out of here is through my goodwill. Will you promise me that you will behave?"

The child paused, thinking this over. Then, he crossed his eyes and blew a raspberry at the older man, halting abruptly when Berkley twisted the small child's wrists to an incredibly painful degree, his action of rebellion become a simple cry of pain. His entire body tensing from the motion, he went totally limp a second after and lay quietly on the wooden platform, mangy green hair hiding half of his face. Berlitz immediately feared that Berkley had forced the child to black out from the pain, until he took in one deep breath and said in a quiet and defeated tone; "…Okay. I'll be good."

"Jolly good." Replied Berlitz with a smile, straightening up and adjusting his dark green cotton coat. "I have always said that everybody deserves a second chance. Good lad." He set the check down on Berkley's desk and the deputy sheriff took his hands off the boy's back, the child shaking him off and leaping off the wooden bed like it was coated with a thin layer of poison. He stood up and brushed the dirt and dust from his clothing like they were made of spun gold, putting on such overbearing airs. But now that Berlitz could get a good look at the lad as he was standing still, he noticed at once how small and weedy the boy looked physically, definitely an underfed boy, and with the disorderly way his grass-green hair was kept, he looked a little more like some kind of forest sprite than a regular human child at all.

Berkley sneered, not liking this turn of events at all. It had indeed taken both him and his father two whole years to get their hands on this thief, and as soon as they had caught the brat, he had to let him go? It wasn't right, and if he did, then his father would kill him as soon as he got back from his rounds. However, if the bail was paid in full, he really had no choice but to let the kid go, as all of his offences, numerous as they were, were still only minor ones, just as the middle-aged professor had said. It was like refraining from squashing a bothersome fly that had gotten stuck on flypaper, no matter how badly he wanted to kill it. But, like he had thought before, he really had no choice in the matter. Roughly grabbing the boy's shoulder and pushing him forward, he frog-marched the captive out of the small and stinking jail with revulsion, hooking the iron-barred door's bottom with the toe of one of his boots and pushing it backwards, so the prison door swung closed behind him. He kept a strong and firm grip on the boy though, in case he got it in his head to escape prematurely. "The next time I catch him his sentence is six months, you know." Berkley muttered, annoyed. Then he let go.

The boy seemed to launch himself into life and sprung towards Berkley's desk, grabbing with a rushed determination at all his stuff lying on top of a few scattered pieces of paper. The first thing he went for was the strange metallic medallion, then he scooped up his small sharp knife like he had lost it for a hundred years, and finally he just crammed what was left back into the pockets of his raggedy trousers, pushing them down deeply so they wouldn't come out again. Like a small agitated rabbit he looked back at the other two men, as if he was a piece of prey being hunted by invisible figures far too close for his comfort. He looked at the door. It had been left slightly ajar. Berkley noticed this and stood in front of it, impeding the child's egress. He folded his arms. "Your bail's been paid. If you're gonna leave, then you'll be leaving with that man." With the nod of a head, he gestured to Berlitz. "Boy, listen to me. The next time you're caught, you'll be doing your time with the adults, understand?"

"Fine. Then I'll just won't get caught again, huh?" He stuck his tongue out at Berkley and grinned impishly, knowing that he was immune to the law for this tiny little period of time. Berlitz put on his hat again and picked up one of his suitcases, handing it over to the young boy. Then he picked up the other, so that he was carrying one, and so was his young companion. The child looked down at it, then up at Berlitz in question. The suitcase didn't feel _too_ heavy, it must have only been filled with clothes or something. "What?" He asked, uncertain. Berlitz had already gone out the door, so the boy followed him, carrying the suitcase as well. Berkley watched him leave, then sighed, going back to his paperwork. He was already dreading the conversation he was going to be having with his father later on.

Closing the door behind him, the boy was now outside, in the dusty dusk air. The sun was still visible over the horizon, preparing itself to set. There was still a little bit more time before darkness fell. Hoisting the suitcase up with his thin little arms, the boy strode up to the older man waiting at the edge of the road, his own suitcase sitting in the road next to him. The professor's hands were in his pockets, probably as a defense against any further pick-pocketing. "You young-uns should be more careful of the law, especially in a place like this." He observed, his greyish moustache hiding his smile. "Now, it will be getting late soon. You should really be getting back to your family. However, if you so have the spare time, could you help me carry these cases back to my inn room? I am not as spry as I used to be and an extra pair of hands would be appreciated."

Smiling as well, but for a different reason, the boy closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Berlitz's suitcase, amused. "What a stupid old man." He said out loud, to nobody in particular. "I just robbed the shit outta him, and now he wants me to carry nearly _all_ his stuff? You're stupid, old man. What's stoppin' me from running off with what I have here now? No matter what's inside, I reckon I could get a good price for it from the right kind of people." He stepped away from the professor, looking down the long stretch of road. It seemed to be an easy getaway, and he already knew that Berlitz was not fit enough to outrun him.

Berlitz didn't stop him. He shrugged. "It is up to you, I suppose. You are free to do what you want, whether it breaks the law or not. I just believe that one good deed deserves another, and considering that I paid your bail, I am entitled to a little menial help if I wish it. Running away with that suitcase will not satisfy any contempt you may hold towards me, as it only contains my daughter Catherine's belongings, not my own. If you wish to run, then run. If you wish to lend a hand, then do so. But do not remain undecided, because indecision is stagnation."

The child stood firm. "I'm gonna run." He said, but made no move to do it.

The professor didn't move either. "Go." He replied, and pointed to the long road running away from them. Still, the kid didn't run. Finally, he decided against it. This old man was hard to understand, but interesting nonetheless. And, even if he didn't like to admit it, he _had_ paid for his bail, and for a child, five hundred gella was a _hell_ of a lot of money, the kind of stuff that children dreamed of. That merited a little goodwill, didn't it? Turn back to the professor, the boy sighed, setting the suitcase on the ground. Berlitz took this as an act of submission. "What is your name, lad?" He asked.

Rubbing a smudge of dirt from his face, the boy blinked at the old man a few times, thinking hard about giving his real name or not. If his name became known to the wrong people, then bad things could break out. But, he had the feeling he could trust this man. He had put five hundred gella and an entire suitcase on his own trust, maybe he should do the same.

After a pause he said; "My name's Clive. Clive Winslett."

xxx

The Crossfire Inn wasn't really that far to begin with, but by the time both Clive and Berlitz walked through the thin wooden doors of the building, Clive's thin little arms were aching from the strain of carrying his small load. It had started out light at the beginning, but his lack of strength in his arms had gradually taken it's toll. He was dragging it as he entered with the professor, the older man not looking to strained at all. Of course, Berlitz was easily four or five times older than he was, and much stronger too. Letting out a breath, Clive dropped the suitcase on the floor and loitered around impatiently as Berlitz spoke to the elderly innkeeper, a wrinkled old woman with crooked yellow teeth and sunken eyes. She gave Berlitz a key and pointed up towards the second floor with a gnarled old finger. Nodding in understanding, Berlitz motioned to Clive again and ascended the staircase, expecting the boy to follow.

"So Clive," Berlitz said as he walked up the staircase, one step at a time, keeping his free hand on the handrail, "That is a fairly uncommon name, from the old dialect, I recall. It means _cliff-tops_, does it not?"

"I dunno." Clive replied, a little short of breath. He was actually climbing the staircase backwards, using both his arms to haul up the suitcase with him, unable to help the loud thumping noise as it hit each individual wooden step as he pulled it. The old innkeeper was looking at him unkindly, finding his shabby clothing and rough accent to be distasteful. Clive ignored this. "My big brother named me, but he didn't tell me what it meant. I don't use it much anyways, just when I'm dealin' with grown ups. My real name's Missanga, because I was called that first of all." He smiled briefly. "It means good luck!" He said.

They both reached the top of the stairs, and from there, they could see a moderately long corridor with doors on either sides of it's body, and each door had a number on it. Berlitz checked his key. It seemed that his room was number seven, which was only a few steps away. Passing his other suitcase to Clive, he fit the key into the lock and turned it, hearing a tiny click which meant the door had been unlocked. His daughter Catherine was probably already inside, as he had left her outside of the inn earlier in the day in order to meet his colleagues on the other side of town. He had instructed the innkeeper to give Catherine a spare key. Pushing the door open, he went inside. Clive waited outside, because he hadn't been invited in yet, and he didn't really want to go inside in the first place.

"Catherine?" Berlitz asked when he went inside, looking around the small inn room. It was moderately furnished and filled with the necessities of life, beds and chairs and a table, with a bookshelf off to one side, and a window just above one of the beds. There was enough room to walk around in, and another doorway lead into a small private bathroom. Some pictures were hanging on the walls, basic watercolour paintings of landscape scenes. It was pretty good considering the amount of money he had paid, that was for sure. It would do nicely for the time he was to be spending here, seeing that he couldn't afford to rent a house with the salary he was accumulating each year. Turning back to the open doorway, he looked back at Clive who seemed to look a little bit skittish at where he was. "Do not just stand there like a totem pole." He said kindly. "Come on in, lad."

A little girl walked out of the bathroom, having been using the mirror above the sink to fix up her light chestnut coloured hair. She had put two soft red ribbons in her hair, and she was wearing a white and brown dress, with a red hem at the bottom. She looked to be no more than six years old, and as far as little girls went, she was adorably cute. Noticing Berlitz, she ran to him at once and jumped into his arms. "Daddy!" She cried happily. "You've come back! I missed you!" Clive moved over and with a great deal of effort, dropped both suitcases onto the bed. Absently he wondered why Berlitz didn't just leave them here when he had dropped his daughter off, but came to the conclusion that the old man was probably senile. Catherine watched the green-haired boy do this and looked back up at her father. "Who's he?" She asked.

"A thief." Berlitz answered calmly, with a smile on his face. "But an honorable thief, so I do not think he will take any of our things anymore." Clive stiffened at this answer, he didn't much like being called a thief, if anything, he preferred to be called a pickpocket. It just sounded more professional, and being called a thief was only a little more flattering than an insult. He let this slide though, the thoughts of a five hundred gella bail flitting through his mind. Berlitz let go of his daughter and lowered her to the ground again, fishing around in one of his pockets. "And I do believe that he deserves something for carrying my things all the way over to this room. For such a small child it must have been quite difficult."

"I don't want anything." Clive replied hotly, his honor as a pickpocket on the line. Then he realised just how dumb he must have sounded, because wanting Berlitz's things had been the very _reason_ why he had been caught. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away from the professor and the little girl, inspecting one of the paintings on the walls. Vaguely he heard a soft scratching sound coming from outside of the window of the room, but was too busy trying to avoid the professor's gaze to dwell on this more.

"Thieves are _bad_ people!" Catherine declared loudly, sticking her tongue out at Clive.

The boy ignored this too, though it was incredibly difficult. Berlitz pushed one of the suitcases on the bed aside and dropped a small quantity of coins besides it, adding up to no more than ten gella in all. It wasn't much, but it'd do. Clive looked at the money like it had come from some other planet, but didn't touch it. Was this a test to see if he'd steal again? If so, then he wouldn't touch it in a million years. True, he was a thief, but other people weren't supposed to know about it! "You can take it if you want, Clive." Said Berlitz. "You earned it."

A rustling creak come from the window, followed by a cut-off yelp and then a slight crashing noise below the building. All three of them turned towards the curtained window, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary at all. When they looked back the money was missing, having been taken by Clive the moment their eyes were elsewhere. Even if the money was legally being given to him, instinct told him to only take what he needed when people's backs were turned. He felt better about this somehow, the ten gella coins warmed by his hand, shoved deeply into his pockets. Catherine blinked at the window and then tugged on her father's dark-green coat. "Daddy, how long are we gonna be in this town for? I miss Humphrey's Peak already."

Berlitz patted his daughter on the head, smiling warmly. "Only until the end of this season, then we will be going home. This will be like a summer holiday for you, Catherine." The little girl got the idea and grinned, her little smile like fresh sunshine. Clive now recognised her as the little girl that he had seen in the photograph in Berlitz's gold watch, only looking a tiny bit younger than she had been right now. The green-haired boy edged towards the doorway, feeling very out of place in this happy family scene. Berlitz saw him go. "Yes, it will be getting dark soon. Go back home to your family, lad. I expect we will meet again, however, I hope it will be because of more pleasant circumstances."

Clive shrugged and left, raising his hand a little in a cold gesture of farewell. Closing the door again behind him, he felt a little unwell. Now _that_ had been an interesting adventure, he reckoned, but he was also glad that it was over. That old man had made him feel weird, and he had been nice to him for absolutely no reason at all. Obviously he had never heard of the Black Shuck gang before. That was good though, because nobody knew and was meant to know that he ran it, and that the _true_ bounty on his head was far greater than a measly five hundred gella. Not even Berkley knew, but he would know soon. Clive just had to wait a little bit, until he was a little older and stronger. Walking down the steps to the front door of the inn, he could see out of the front window that the shadows were lengthening as a cloud covered the dipping sun.

__

Go back to my family? What a weird old man…

He left without a word, and did exactly what Berlitz had said.

xxx

When Clive was finally released from the cruel grasp of servitude, he found himself skulking down the shady back-alley behind the inn a few minutes later, both his small hands shoved into his pockets, his head down and mumbling something quietly to himself, fiercely embarrassed at his undignified capture. He had prided himself greatly on the fact that he had never been caught red-handed before, and now that record, along with all it entailed, had swiftly and eagerly been flushed down the proverbial toilet. The few coins he had been given tinkled pleasantly in his pocket, making a silvery little sound, and he encircled his hand around them to prevent the noise from arising, knowing quite well that if he sounded like money, the chances of that money being taken away from him increased nearly tenfold. He figured that if he had to go through all that bullshit for a few measly coins, he was going to damn well keep those coins for himself.

And as soon as his thoughts turned towards the topic of mugging, the shadows in the alley seemed to shift and Clive was suddenly surrounded, the small boy looking up and staring intently at the largest figure right in front of him. He had to crane his neck up a bit, because the figure was far taller than he was. "Mongo," Clive said, taking a small step back, "Can ya move for me, please? I'm gettin' lost in yer five o'clock shadow." Somebody off to the side of Clive snickered, finding this funny. A few seconds after that, two more voices joined in with the laughter, and Clive cracked a crooked smile.

Mongo threw up his hands and moved away, chuckling himself. "Sorry, Boss, sorry," He laughed, "But I was havin' trouble _seein'_ ya in me shadow." The sun emerged from it's place behind the clouds and bathed the alley in late afternoon sunlight, dissolving the shadows cast by the height of the buildings all around them. Clive looked around. They seemed to be all there, at least, all the human parts of their little group. But where on Filgaia was-

Clive lost his train of thought when something slammed him in the front and knocked him onto his back, the boy groaning when the back of his skull hit the hard dirt road. Something wet and slobbery started licking him all over his face and Clive felt a warm pressure on his chest, causing the boy to reach up and push the hyperactive animal away. "Lucy!" Clive spluttered between giggles, "St-stop it! Bad! Bad doggie!" He managed to pry the dog off his chest and wiped the slobber off his face with his jacket sleeve, not resisting when somebody took his other hand and helped him to his feet. Lucy leapt up and scrabbled at Clive's front, standing on her hind legs to reach him. When she realised that he wasn't going to start playing with her, she slid down and started to roll around in the dust, yapping happily.

The dark-haired boy from earlier threw his arm around Clive's shoulder and leant into his side like he had lost his balance, smiling widely. "So!" He exclaimed, immensely pleased by something, "You _finally_ let Berkley have his way with you, hmm? I saw you get beaten with my own eyes, and let me just say that you went down with both indignity and a lack of grace! Defeat by dead fish! Do not worry, my friend, we all still respect you and your talent, but…" He patted Clive on the back, "I am not going to let you forget that a poxy teenager and an _old man_ beat you at your own game!"

Somebody reached a hand out and grabbed the dark-haired boy's ear firmly and pulled, causing him to yelp sharply and let go of Clive, having to lean the other way to prevent his ear from being pulled off. Meekly, recognising exactly who owned the hand, he went entirely limp to prevent any further injury upon himself. "Don't pester little Missangah!" Berated the young dark-skinned girl, twisting his ear slightly and making the boy cry out in pain. "The only reason why he was caught was because _ya'll_ didn't stall that old man long enough!" The boy moaned out an apology and the girl let go, leaning forward to look at Clive more carefully. "So, Ah was wonderin', did you get scolded?" She asked, intrigued.

"Not really." Clive replied, absently rubbing the back of his head. "The old guy paid my bail and made me carry his stuff into his room, then he gave me some gella for the work. I'm just glad it was Berkley that locked me up and not his pops, 'else I'd still be rottin' in there right now." While Berkley was lenient with children and just about anybody else, his dad was the King Shit and never let anybody off the hook. Suffice to say, he was not well liked by the law-rejecting citizens of the town. Despite this, he was still an _incredibly_ good sheriff and good at the game. Sometimes it had taken all Clive had to evade the older man's pursuit.

A little kid who didn't look any older than four years old tugged on Clive's clothes, beaming. "We saw yoo! We was watchin' yoo!" He smiled like a little cherub and ran behind the dark-skinned girl, peeking out from behind her side. He had light brown hair and blue eyes, and wore a pair of patched blue trousers and a tiny little belt, complete with a dirty and ripped white shirt. The little kid smiled again. "There was a man, and a girl, and a Boss!" He giggled, as if he knew all the secrets of the world and that they were all hilarious, and his own.

"Huh?" Clive grunted, "But I was in a second storey room, how did you'se all peep in?"

"Well," Said the girl bemusedly, "That part was easy. Mongo stood below the window, then Swanky got on Mongo's shoulders, then Iyosuke got on Swanky's shoulders, then they could see into the inn room." Clive blinked a couple of times, so _that_ explained the weird noise he had heard coming from the outside of the window. He had been fleetingly curious about that a little earlier. "But then," She continued, slightly abashed, putting her hands behind her back, "We had a teensy little problem that Ah didn't really see coming."

"Mongo sneezed!" Chimed Iyosuke, removing his little wooden sword from it's place near his belt and holding it in the air, slowly dragging it down to represent exactly what had happened. "Then we all fell down! Swanky broke my fall, and Mongo broke his!"

"Yeah, well, it was only because the sun got in my eyes." Mongo retorted defensively, snorting. "An' the only thing that broke my fall was a pile of crates and the ground. My back is killin' me." Mongo was easily twice as big as any of the other people there, and no doubt as strong, but when he fell, he hit _hard_. Clive was just glad that he hadn't landed on the dark-skinned girl, or she easily would have been crushed half to death.

There was a short silence, the only noise being heard coming from Lucy, blissfully rolling around in the dust and panting happily. Clive started to walk down the alleyway, and Swanky got back up carefully, holding his hand over one side of his head to prevent his hurt ear from being harmed. The others followed him, and Swanky got into step with Clive at the head of the group. Clive was expecting him to ask some questions, and after a moment, he was not disappointed. "I should like to ask you something." He began, brushing the dust off the front of his dark shirt. "That man paid your bail, correct? Why on Filgaia would he-"

"You know, I really don't know." Clive replied, a little irritated because he was speaking the truth. He left his reply at that, not wanting to talk much right now. He had been in a supremely good mood only a few hours ago, and now it had been crushed and turned into dark confusion because of that annoyingly indecipherable man. He didn't really like the way that little girl had been looking at him either, like he was the scum of the earth. Well, technically it was true, but it still pissed him off. Absently he patted his dog Lucy on the head, the large animal walking happily with her master.

"Cold." Swanky said, folding his arms behind his head as he walked and sighing. "When we get back home I shall make you some tea. If you do not feel like talking I will just be quiet then, but before I do I just want to say that I saw that girl through the window. Do you think she is going to be staying here for a while? It might be nice to have somebody new to talk to. Besides…" He leant over to Clive a little and whispered. "Carmilla is not the most feminine girl I have ever met before…"

"Ah heard that! Ah don't know what fem-in-ine means, but by the Guardians-"

"Oh come on!" Swanky yelled, turning around and beginning to walk backwards to he could argue with the girl face-to-face. "You are just a dumb kid! What do you expect?!" He ducked a rock and snickered again, and Lucy dove for it like it was a bright red bouncy ball, holding the stone proudly in her teeth. Mongo was still at the back of the group and moaning about his back, and Iyosuke was poking it with his wooden sword like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Carmilla threw another rock, and this time it hit Swanky squarely in the face. However it turned out to be a dirt clod, and didn't damage him at all. It pissed him off some, though.

"That's it! I am going to get you, you little bitch!"

Lucy's ears perked up at the mention of the term, but the comment was not directed at her.

"Ow! That hurts, you meany! You're not supposed to hit girls!"

"And I suppose you are one?!"

"Yeah, and so are you!"

"Ouch!"

Clive sighed. If he were in a better mood he would have fuelled the fight on until one of them was crying, but he just didn't feel like it today. It felt like he had a headache. Lucy whined and nudged his side, licking his bare hand that had escaped from one of his pockets. The sun was setting and everything was getting dark. He could hear the hum of cicadas in the night. One of the children behind him started laughing, even though he was getting beaten up to a minor degree.

And Clive started to feel a tiny bit better, his empty stomach growing at the promise of dinner. With those ten gella coins he had earned, it would be enough to pay for a decent meal for all of them.

He guessed that, for what it was worth, and despite his feelings, today had been a pretty good day.


	3. Scenery Called 'Everyday'

Thirty years ago, the township of Little Twister was very unlike the small one-horse town that it had become during Filgaia's dying days, the wasting days, the time when the land had seemed to spiral down into a barren wasteland hell. Back then, it has been surrounded by short grass clipped plains and flatlands as far as the eye could see, with the edge of the Westwood forest to the east, like dark scary shadows upon a pale blue horizon. Further west was the shoreline and a wide beach carrying a small fishing industry, importing their goods from the sea. Little Twister was a much larger town as well, separated into four major districts and labeled by the four directions of the compass, north, south, east and west. The town was racially categorized into these four areas as well, whether it be a subconscious decision or not. At the very center of these four sectors was the marketplace, and that was the hub of the entire town, a meeting ground free of district and cultural preferences.

It was a hard place to live however, and for those who had no family or home to go to, it was the coldness of Little Twister that took their lives away. Some got lucky and managed to sell themselves into slavery in order to be bought and adequately looked after, as slavery was still quite legal in those times, but others who wished to keep their human rights and dignity lived like rats on the street, scratching out a meager existence from the scraps left from the more fortunate. Pickpockets and thieves were overly common in the town, but the most talented and skilled of thieves were never caught often enough to be labeled one, and could walk the streets without another's eyes upon them.

Those who robbed the rich and gave to themselves sometimes banded together in order to gain protection and companionship, and at times, even helped each other. It was becoming more common for teams of pickpockets to commit their crimes in more organised ways, building off their strengths and hiding their weaknesses. In rare cases, these teams of thieves fought one another for their territory, for their pride, or even for their honor. In the southern district of Little Twister, there was only one gang of children who had managed to survive thus far and live in relative comfort. They were small in comparison to other groups, bearing only five real members, but each one of them was individually talented and geared to their job. All of them knew how to thieve. All of them knew how to fight. And all of them were infants ripped from the cradle to be submerged in an adult's job, and in an adult's world.

First came Manna, and was a young girl of near pure blooded Baskar decent and origin. Her skin was the colour of light brown sugar and her hair was long and slightly thick, a shade much darker than a regular brown or bronze, like deep ancient wood. Her eyes were intense and black, like polished stones. She was a fairly plump girl as well, bearing a noticeable chubbiness that made her look cute, but certainly not unattractive, something that caused the boys to call her 'Cream Puff' when she was in a good mood, and 'Carmilla' when she was upset, the name derivative from Carmilla the Bloody Countess, a fearful mythological figure from folklore. She had drifted to Little Twister after he entire family had been killed by a band of roving bandits, and her ability to look after the younger children had become greatly appreciated by the other Black Shucks. Though she was only little, she was an indispensable member of the team.

Iyosuke was usually her chief responsibility, being the oldest of the younger group of children. They really didn't have any idea on where he had come from, he had only turned up one day crying his eyes out in front of the Black Shuck headquarters last year, and Iyosuke himself was too young to even remember where or who he was supposed to be. He did have an awe-filled reverence for battle of any variety, and one day he wanted to be a powerful warrior, for real. Clive had made him a wooden sword because of this, and he tried to beat up his older gang members playfully whenever he got the chance. His nickname was 'LD', which was an abbreviation of the words 'Little Dude', because that was what his good friend Mongo saw him as.

Mongo's birth name was Andrew, a largish boy from Guardians knows where. He had no last name, in fact, he had said so on many different occasions that who needed so many different names when one was clearly enough? Despite this, the others liked to call him 'Mongo' for reasons unclear. Nobody could remember who had made up the nickname and had given it to him, but Andrew seemed to like it and that was good enough for all. He had the physical build that would suggest that in about twenty or so years, with the right kinds of training, he'd make a name for himself as the local strong man, or another similar profession. Even for a little nine year old, he was still pretty strong for his age. Ravendor would have said that this came from Andrew's grossly unequal values of brawn and brains, but he never said anything openly about it, for fear of being beaten ungracefully into the ground.

Ravendor, AKA Swanky Begucci was a young runaway from the distant land of Sunset Peak, and both the second-in-command and operations manager in the Black Shuck Gang. Basically, the Boss made up the plans, and Ravendor was the one charged to put them into practice. He was supposed to be the son of some nobleman up north, and he looked and sounded a lot like one, but he also strangely denied his past and claimed to be Clive's blood brother instead. His appearance always seemed to lean slightly towards the feminine, which sometimes caused small mix-ups with strangers thinking him a girl, but it could also be seen that he was going to be a very handsome person in the distant future. Ravendor was probably one of the weirdest ones of the bunch, second only to Clive himself.

And Clive Winslett was the big cheese, the grand master, the guiding hand, founder and leader of the Black Shuck Gang, at the tender age of maybe six or seven years old. For a child, he was overflowing with street smarts, common sense and a brilliant strategic mind, one that was astonishingly advanced for a young boy of his age. He was a little sprightly wisp of a boy with longish mop-like hair and crystal clear blue eyes, and when he smiled it was like he didn't have a single sin in the world. It was he who had formulated the Black Shuck Gang under the permission of a larger adult gang that inhabited the same area as themselves, and it could easily be conceived that nobody in his gang could have ever survived in the township of Little Twister without Clive's help.

His real name was Missanga, a title handed to him for two equally important reasons. The name itself was a short incantation used to bolster one's luck, an old tradition from long ago, given by the last group of people he had stayed with, as they had been a group of outlaws that had considered the small boy to be their good luck charm. Before the group had been captured, shot and killed, Clive had lived with them happily, like some kind of mascot. Even after he was left alone again, the name continued to stick. He liked it, anyway. The second reason was because Clive himself wore a missanga around his neck, something he had owned for as far back as he could remember. It was, in a way, his own personal good luck charm and a link to whatever world he was supposed to belong in.

The gang itself was named after the legendary beast known as the black shuck, a monster dog or wolf that stood at the same height as a small horse with pitch black fur and eyes like smoldering coals, a demon in disguise. Some said that the black shuck was really the devil himself, and looking a shuck in the eyes was supposed to sign one's own death warrant, causing them to die in exactly one year's time. The Black Shuck Gang dominated all other childish gangs in the southern side of the town, and they inhabited a small dormitory area near the main road of the town. It was most likely to have been the living quarters of some kind of school a long time ago, which was enough room for all of them and then some.

The dormitory was old, shabby and seemingly deserted on the outside, discarded shells standing firm in the breeze. The doors and windows were boarded up so that it would be impossible to get in without having to tear a goodly section of the wall down, and it was generally left to look that way to discourage people from entering. True entry came from the south, via an alleyway created by a weapon and a candy store, long and narrow and not looking like it led to anywhere significantly important. All other alleyways that led to the dormitory were barricaded by heavy empty crates taken from the marketplace and stacked tightly against each other to form a wall, before they were filled to the brim with sand. It was just as strong, and just as impervious as a real brick wall.

There were four dorm buildings in all, three fairly large ones in comparison to a tinier forth one that wasn't much bigger than a tool shed. They formed a protective L shape around a patch of short scrubby grass, dirt and a bit of cobbled pavement, the tool shed placed diagonally across from the corner of the L shaped area. The pavement was marked by white lines of chalk, crisscrossing in places and forming boxes and things; basic games for children who knew and understood the rules. There were sticks all over the ground and leaning up against the buildings themselves, and on this side of the area the doors were unlocked and open because this side was much safer and more trusted, like an oasis in the middle of a parched desert. Glinting, the windows were clear and reflected the young morning light in it's pale murky glass, creating a fresh shine.

The three dorm rooms were separated from each other depending on gender and age. The boy dorm was the biggest and was at the most southern part of the area and stood directly across from the tool shed, making up a complete wall of the courtyard. Andrew, Ravendor and Clive lived there peacefully, with plenty of space to spare, so they never got in each other's way. It was obviously not the cleanest place, with clothes and toys and other things thrown all over the place, but it also made it seem like it was well lived in, friendly and warm.

The second dorm room was just for girls and was protected on either side by other buildings, creating the crook of the L shaped building formation. This place was decidedly nicer and tidier on the inside and a small batch of flowers grew on the outside, the beginnings of a pretty flower garden. Manna had total domination over this dorm and was it's supreme overlord without question, not even Clive could enter without a lot of screaming and having an assortment of things hurled directly at his head. Simply put, - you had to be a girl to come in.

The final dorm was specially set up to cater to a small group of homeless children that were temporarily being kept there at the gang's goodwill, or at least for as long as they could properly afford it. This areas was a lot like an orphanage in a way, a gathering of children aged from infants to about four years old. Iyosuke was the eldest of this grouping and lived there too. Whenever the gang had either food or money, it was the littlest kids that always ate first, and the higher up on rank one was, the later on one would have to eat, unless one felt like stealing from others. It was a lot like children playing house with no parents, or like kids trying frantically to put a chaotic world into some semblance of proper order. It was sad in a way, but also tremendously courageous.

It was an unspoken rule that any gang that left their territory was on their own and vulnerable to the dominant gang in that area. Children usually stayed in their designated area unless they were looking for a fight, in which case they usually found one with ease. It was not uncommon for a child to get seriously hurt or even killed in this way, so territorial dispute and underlying laws were both needed and paramount. Little Twister was _not_ a place for children, and nowhere was safe. But this was the world that they lived in, and it was the world that they had come to accept. They could do nothing else except try to survive.

And Clive had always said that; 'What was the point of survival if you didn't get to have fun along the way?' This was the Black Shuck mantra. Live at all costs, but make sure you have fun with it too. They could keep their childhood intact as long as they remembered this one little piece of truth.

Have fun.

xxx

A normal day for the Black Shuck Gang started early for most, at the very break of the sun, rising over the vast plain-like land that bore the frontier town. Clive Winslett always woke at this time in a nearly impossibly peppy mood, dressed quickly and ate whatever he could possibly find for breakfast, then he went and dragged his older brother out of bed with a small amount of difficulty and pesky annoyance, as he liked to sleep in a lot. Clive then went outside and did his morning exercises in the small sunny courtyard, which involved stretches and a lot of running around. Manna and Andrew usually were capable of waking up themselves at the proper time, and by the time Ravendor was staggering out of his room and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Manna had already woken up the rest of the younger children and had ushered them outside to meet up with Clive, who expanded his exercise routine to involve the other kids. This was a regular morning for them, getting ready for a brand new day.

"Uhnnnnnnn… You need to stop waking me before seven…" Groaned Ravendor to Clive as he threw the wooden bucket into the well near the corner of the courtyard and waited to hear the expected splash of water from below. It came and he began to crank the wheel to retract the rope attached to the bucket, bearing the co-ordination and grace of somebody who was still half-asleep. He hauled the bucket up and splashed some water on his face, then he rubbed it away with the front of his pajama top, pinching his cheeks afterwards to wake himself up a little more. Grabbing a small cup resting by the well and filling it with the water bucket, he had a deep drink and then wet his face again, repeating the drying motion.

Clive was holding one arm up and stretching himself to the right, putting tension on one side of his body and leg. A few of the young children were imitating him, including Iyosuke. One of them fell over on the bottom and sat there with a bewildered blinking look in their eyes. Switching sides, Clive smiled brightly, watching some of the non-participating playing their own preferred games. "C'mon Swanks," Clive chirped with his little forest sprite-like grin, "The early bird gets the worm, right? If you sleep in all mornin' you'll never be as quick witted as I am. Besides, you took so long that I got impatient and ate your breakfast." Ravendor was about to say something about that but Clive had not finished speaking yet. "Hey, I told ya the early bird gets the worm. No worms for you today, bird boy." He laughed at his joke and knelt as one of the youngest girls tried to toddle into his arms, leaning backwards and sitting down on the ground. Clive returned the hug she was giving him and laughed again.

The older boy skulked away, going back to his room to change out of his pajamas. "Why do you always have to do that?" He grumbled as he opened the door, disappearing inside. It always took at least an hour for Ravendor to fully return from the land of sleep, so Clive didn't pay any serious attention to his older brother's grumpy mood. Instead, he put the little girl he was cuddling down and set her on her feet, picking up a long wooden stick that was leaning against the building. He shifted his hand around until he got a good grip on it and then he grinned, turning to Andrew who was tying his shoes on the other side of the small courtyard. He was still trying to get his head around turning the two laces into an adequate knot. He eventually succeeded and managed to create something that vaguely resembled a bow, smiling at his work.

"Hey Andy," Clive called as the other boy got to his feet, "Feel like a sparring match? Oh no, wait. I mean a rematch, 'cause I beat your ass yesterday!" It had been fun and easy too, because Andrew was big and clumsy while Clive was quick and agile. Sure, he could be taken out with one simple hit, but nobody had ever been fast enough to hit him before, which was nothing but a boost to his pride-filled ego. Clive tossed his light stick into the air, let it make one full rotation, then caught it effortlessly on the other end. He did this a few times, waiting for an answer.

"I'm gonna take you out." The larger boy jeered playfully, picking up a stick of his own. It was thicker than the other one, but not as long. It felt a little heavy, but not as much as to hinder him at all. Switching the weapon to his left hand, as the boy was left-handed, Andrew leant down and got into a battle stance. "First one to scream loses, right? No low blows this time." Clive giggled, remembering the day before. He had seen an opening and he took it, much to Andrew's disdain. Before they began, however, they removed all the little kids out of their battle area, so now they had space and a crowd to watch. Iyosuke seemed to be on Andrew's side, according to the little boy's chants, but most of the girls were cheering for Clive. Manna was silent, almost brooding. Andrew smiled. "Show me yer stuff!" He cried.

And the battle began.

Clive waited and let Andrew charge first, so he could get a good idea on how the larger boy was moving around today. He still was limping a little from yesterday but didn't seem to be in any serious pain, or he would have refused the sudden rematch. Andrew reached his boss and thrust out with his small thick stick, intending to poke him in the gut and give him a minor bruise. Clive ducked when Andrew thrust and leant onto his right hand side, dropping to the ground. The stick whistled past his left ear and hit air, the little boy dodging the attack. Pushing with his legs now, Clive sprung back onto his feet and swept his own longer stick in a diagonal arc and smacked Andrew in the side, making a hit, but it still wasn't enough to make his enemy scream.

Pulling his arm back, Clive dropped down again and kicked out with his feet to try and know Andrew off balance, and he was about to succeed until Iyosuke jumped onto Clive's back and forced him onto the ground, pounding at the green-haired boy's back with his little wooden sword. Like a tiny twig that held a floodtide back and breaking, all the other little minors in the courtyard squealed gleefully and piled on top of their boss, covering him from head to tow in squirming little bodies. Andrew straightened up and just stood there, watching, before he chucked amusedly and rubbed the back of his neck with the smooth shaft of his weapon. He could hear Clive's muffled protests, and decided to ignore him. "I win." Andrew said mirthfully. "Actually, no, I tied. The kiddies won today, Sanga."

Manna was off giggling at the sidelines. "Poor little guy. What a way ta go." She said with a chuckle, brushing the tangles out of her hair at the same time with a comb. "Ah'm gonna take a walk to the orphanage today an' see if they'll take some 'o the little ones outta our hands. You know," She hesitated, in both her words and her actions, "They offered ta take me last time. I let 'im take little Ian instead. He needs it more than Ah do."

An arm thrust itself out of the kiddie pile-up and waved around wildly, as if it's owner was desperately searching for a way out. The digits on the hand were trembling from the pressure or maybe even a lack of oxygen. Grasping onto some kind of an idea, it began to gently pinch the kids on top of him, prompting them to let go and tumble away. Andrew turned around, shouldering his wooden stick. "Takin' care of babies is hard?" He asked, more of a question on Manna's capabilities than the act in general.

"Yeah. Ah'm only one girl, and we have two babes with us right now. They'se still be sleepin' at the moment, but they'll wake up soon." Manna shrugged. "The man at the grocers said that he'd give me a discount on milk 'cause he knows what we'se been doin' with them, an' Ah don't mind babysittin' all that much. Ah laike babes. But…" She looked down, scratching at her chin lightly. "Laike Ah said before, Ah'm only one girl. You an' Missanga ain't good babysittin' material, so's that leaves mostly me. Swanky's okay, he does get a few things mixed up sometimes, but he's better than nothin'. They'se laike Sanga the most, though."

"He's the most fun." Andrew agreed. "That's why."

Speaking of Clive, the little boy was pushing himself to his feet now with a few kids hanging off him, the rest having run away when Clive had taken the upper hand. Leaning on his wooden stick like a crutch, he shot a glance at Andrew and grinned. "Rematch, tomorrow." He said, loosening the small lacing of fingers around his neck, as Iyosuke was still handing there like an ineffective garrote. "An' no kids'll be able to save your butt this time."

"You're on." Andrew replied. "Maybe we can make it doubles? I'll take Manna, then."

"Nah, it won't work." Clive said, shaking his head. "Swanky won't play. He's no good at stick fighting anyways, even Manna can win against 'im. Plus, I dun' think he likes gettin' beat up all that much. So…" He changed his plans. "We'll do it singles and Manna and Swanks can be the cheerleaders. The winner gets… uh…" He checked his pockets for some kind of prize. "…My personal thumbs up?"

"But whut if you win?"

"Well, I just- …Ah dammit."

xxx

About an hour later, Ravendor burst out of his room, fully dressed, into the courtyard with a plain metal tin under one arm and a particularly detailed-looking model airplane in his other hand, held aloft as if to simulate high flight. He ran through the courtyard making plane, machine gun and missile noises, and nearly knocking over Clive who was playing dice with Andrew, their rivalry restricted to sparring matches only. They weren't gambling money yet because both of them were to young too figure out exactly how a dice game actually worked. For now, they were just predicting what number the two dice were going to show them. Andrew kept on getting snake eyes for some reason. Iyosuke was sitting in Manna's lap and squirming restlessly as she tried to brush his short and messy hair, but he leapt out of it when Ravendor paused in front of the two and clipped him over the head with the wing of his little model.

"War games! War games! Army men and airplanes!" Iyosuke called in a sing-song voice, unconsciously allowing his words to rhyme and snatching at the tin box under the other boy's arm. Ravendor pulled away just in time and Iyosuke ended up grabbing at air, making him lean forward too much and fall flat on his little face. He pushed himself up eagerly and took the older boy's hand for support, where he was then hauled easily to his feet.

"Want a history lesson?" Ravendor asked, fiddling with the small propeller at the front of his model now that Iyosuke was upright again. "We can stage the great demon war and I will show you just how it was played out." He passed the tin box to Iyosuke and it rattled slightly when it was moved, like there was a hundred pieces of _something_ inside. It was a little heavy for Iyosuke's tiny hands, but he managed nevertheless. The little boy rattled the box again, delighting at the pleasant sounds it made. Grappling a bit with his stubby little fingers, he pried the lid off and tilted the box at one corner, the hundreds of different-coloured plastic army men moving like a small sea of tiny rifles and bodies.

Manna pulled a face. She didn't like war games very much and wandered off to take a walk. Play fighting was one thing, it was only hitting each other with sticks, but games like the ones that Ravendor enjoyed involved strategy and planning, and used in a war-like context, it was evil. Still, Iyosuke _adored_ games like that and there was nothing she could do about it. Manna had a few gella in her pockets, she decided to go and buy some milk along the way of her walk. She felt like stretching her legs anyway.

Iyosuke and Ravendor set up in a clear patch of ground not too far away, close to where Clive and Andrew were playing. Every so often they could hear the sounds of Clive crying out; "Snake eyes!" and Andrew mildly swearing. Iyosuke giggled every time he heard Andrew lose. They sorted the factions out into three major colours for the demons, humans and Elw and left the other colours in the box, to be used as spares later on. The soldiers were frozen in their little individual positions, some standing up and saluting, guns at their side, others crouched down with their weapons ready to fire, or in mid-march, like in a parade. For such little models, they were very well made. Looking closely, Iyosuke could even see that a few of them bore facial expressions.

White was the colour of the humans, because white was apparently pure. Red was the colour of the demons, because red was an angry and bloody colour, and the Elws were given the colour yellow, because Ravendor had said that the Elws were 'yellow' to run away. With the arrangement of the platoons, the humans and the demons each took a side, and the Elws were the third party, sitting down in the middle and off to the side. There were many white soldiers, a good few red soldiers, but only a small handful of yellow ones. "I will be the humans, because I'm in charge." Ravendor told Iyosuke. "And you can be the Elws because you don't know nothing yet. Now… uh… Clive!" He turned to his younger brother, who was just sitting about while Andrew was trying to find some kind of fault with his dice. "Come over here and be the demons, alright?!"

"Aww, do I have to?!" Came the reply from the little boy. "They lose! Can't I be the- Oh fine, I'm coming. You'se two can't play the demons for all the gella in the world, can't ya?" Hopping to his feet, Clive skidded over to Ravendor and Iyosuke and plonked himself right between the two, accidentally knocking over a few army men in the process. Settling down and picking up a few of them, Clive isolated them and snickered. "These'll be my four special knights, one, two, three and four. Theyse'll be better than all the others, okay? In fact, theyse'll be my captains! Zeeky, Boomy, Harky an' Ally!"

"Those are the worst names I have ever heard in my life." Ravendor admitted with an odd look, then put his model airplane down next to his human soldiers. "Well, if you get special people then I should get special people too! This plane will be my big monster golem! His name is…uh…" He tried to dredge up a name but failed. "It doesn't matter what his name is, he will be _my_ captain, and he's so strong, I will only need one of them! BAM!" Picking up his plane/golem, he smashed it into Clive's four demon captains. "Demons didn't have captains anyway!" Ravendor announced loudly. "They were like bees, not people! Gross little bugs!" Smiling self importantly, he added, "I know because I learnt it when I was _tutored_! That means that I'm right and _you're_ wrong!"

"No!" Clive retaliated while glancing at his little soldiers hurtfully, like he was looking to them for advice. "That's a lie!"

"How do you know?!" Ravendor questioned him hotly.

"Because it is!"

While the two brothers were fighting, Iyosuke was quietly digging small holes in the dirt with a blunt little stick and burying all of Clive and Ravendor's men inside the trenches that he made, creating a small miniature graveyard. He was humming a happy little nursery rhyme while he did it, totally ignoring the argument nearby, because they had both failed to notice him as well. His little yellow toys were the smallest, but that didn't mean that he had to lose. Calmly, picking up Ravendor's model plane and looking to see if there was a tiny pilot inside, he vaguely wondered where Manna went.

xxx

"Looking Glass, Berlitz my good man. Looking Glass."

Berlitz was sitting in the richly furnished office of the most powerful and influential figure in all of Little Twister, generally conceived to be the man who owned Little Twister itself. He had been awaiting this appointment for nearly three whole days of unsure anxiety, and now that he was there, he ardently hoped that he could pull off the correct image required of him. The man he was currently listening to was both his patron and his sponsor for his work here, and in order to keep his archaeological grants flowing, he had to be cordial to those who required it most of all. It was not something that was difficult to do, for this man was formal yet pleasant, though young for his position. The archaeological community of Little Twister had fought hard to get Berlitz with him, so he had better say something soon. "The Looking Glass, sir?" He questioned, still being briefed on his next task at hand.

It had been a few days since Berlitz and his daughter had arrived eventfully in the dusty frontier town, and the old professor has already formed a short opinion on the land around him, though it was a particularly distasteful one. Kids ran about untamed like vicious little monsters, adults got into fights at the drop of a hat, at night, whores and thieves roamed the streets without fear, and everything seemed to be the very picture of a western-style Sodom or Gomorra. It was indeed very odd for Berlitz to believe that only a few days ago he had met a little boy who didn't seem to be affected by the visage of the town, and it was even harder to accept that fact that this place was nearly surrounded on all sides by places of ancient purity and worship, ruins of the arcane. Did they really exist? And what was this about a thing called the Looking Glass? Berlitz wanted to know.

A smile. "I believe that you may have heard about it before, considering your current vocation, Mr. Erdesparen. Yes indeed, the Looking Glass." The man seated behind the desk looked to be no older than twenty five years or so, with a rather slim build and pale bluish-white hair that was long and kept without any restraint, falling past his shoulders. His eyes were hidden behind thin glasses of a very expensive variety, cloaking his deep blue eyes. He was dressed in a dark olive green business suit that was plain yet well-made, and he wore flawless white gloves without a speck of dirt on them. He smiled, crossing his legs and allowing his feet to rest upon his thick and aged desk. "A very interesting place. You have quite a large reputation in the archaeological world, as you no doubt are aware of, but your actual experience at excavation is practically nonexistent. Some would call you an armchair researcher, I'm afraid, and that is where my problem lies." He took a brief pause, then reached for his pocket. "Do you mind if I smoke?" He asked.

"Do as you wish, Mr. Iscariot."

"Please, call me Alexander." The young man insisted genially, taking out his cigar case and removing one small, thin cigar. Snapping the case closed, he tucked it back into his front pocket without much thought. He lit it after a second and breathed in the thin, wispy smoke, then looked back at the older man sitting in front of him. "I don't trust many people in this world, Mr. Erdesparen," Alexander admitted to him, "There are a lot of individuals in this town that would laugh and cheer and clap if they ever heard news of my downfall. I know for a fact that there are powerful and… yes, I admit it, _dangerous_ items in those ruins, and if they were to get into the wrong hands, well, you should have a good idea by now on what the people here are like. Would you trust them with anything remotely dangerous? I think not."

"I think you may be generalizing the population, but this is your town and not my own, so I suppose you have that right." Berlitz answered, making Alexander's smile become prouder. "I do wonder on why you commissioned somebody like myself, then, if you require one with practical excavation experience. I am an aging man, Mr. Iscariot, I am not as young or as fit as I used to be. I assure you that I will try my very best on all challenges that would face me, but I do believe that your faith would be better placed onto a younger group of researchers. The Crowley or Waite team would be more than capable of excavating this 'Looking Glass', that you speak of, and I think-"

"Ah, but there is the rub." Alexander proclaimed with some satisfaction, cutting Berlitz off rather curtly. "I do not trust any other in your profession, Mr. Erdesparen. Drifters can easily switch their title from archaeologist to treasure hunter and back, and if I _do_ want these items to be removed and studied without them being misused, then I would require one who has never had any drifter experience before. You would seem to be that man. I feel that I can put my faith in you, because my father trusted you on many different occasions back when he was still alive." Blowing out some smoke, Alexander closed his eyes. "If I cannot trust my own dear father's judgement, then what else could I trust in this wide world of ours?"

Berlitz nodded knowingly. "I see where you are coming from. You make a good point." So he had been sent here not for his great practical archaeological expertise, but for the lack of it. Berlitz didn't really know what to think of that, whether it was a compliment or an insult or not. Alexander Iscariot was the biggest of the big cheeses this side of Filgaia, and just about anybody with their wits about them would jump at the chance to do him a bit of work. Berlitz's financial situation had just begun to hurt, so Alexander was like a godsend in human form. He had to think of Catherine too, and do whatever was best for her future. Sitting up a little straighter in his seat, Berlitz had to ask another question. "So you want me to visit and poke around the ruins called the 'Looking Glass', and bring back whatever treasure I can find? Will I be able to personally conduct a study of any item that piques my interest?"

"Naturally." Alexander replied readily. "It is what I would have asked for anyway, I can't have anything hidden away if I don't know what it is or what it does, can I? Owning an item simply for it's face value is the pursuit of idle pompous fools. But, enough about that. Let me get down into more technical and pressing terms." Stubbing out the lit end of his cigar, he left it in the ashtray by his elbow and laced his fingers together, briefly taking a quick sweeping look at all the immaculate wall paintings hung on his wall. "You're not a drifter. I'm not looking for a drifter, I'm looking for an archaeologist. But I can't send an archaeologist out to an unexplored ruin without any proper protection. As of this moment, I hire you, and you are one of my assets."

Berlitz blinked once. He didn't feel any different, but from now on his situation had definitely changed. Alexander placed a goodly sum of money on the desk, about a thousand gella's worth. "Take this and use a fraction of it to hire yourself some bodyguards, somebody that you can rely on. The rest is your commission. Make sure they have combat experience, just in case. I know that this is not much money in the ways of drifter-hire, but this is all that I am willing to place on the project for the time being. If this venture is successful, I will be inclined to pay more next time. I will give you a few days to get prepared, I am in no rush. When you feel ready, contact me again and I will give you further details on your mission."

"Aww, but I wanna hear them now." Said a tiny little voice, prompting both Berlitz and Alexander to look over to it's originator.

Catherine was sitting in a chair next to her father and was trying to be as quiet and as un-fidgety as a six year old could be, keeping her hands in her lap while swinging her legs off the side, dangling off the richly carpeted floor. She was still almost engulfed by the high-backed chair around her, reminding Berlitz vaguely of a pearl hiding in the depths of a giant clam. He didn't really want to bring her to this place or to his work, but he was loathe to simply let his little daughter run around the town all alone or bore herself to death in their inn room. Because there were no running daycare centers anywhere nearby, this was the only option he had. He believed that this wouldn't be too interesting for her, despite how easily she seemed to go along with it. She hadn't complained once.

Alexander smiled down at the little girl and she smiled back, listening to the grown-up talk with a quiet ear. Looking back to Berlitz, Alexander seemed satisfied with their discussion. He decided to give them what the little girl wanted to hear. It couldn't hurt, anyway. "Very well, then. Please pay attention." A pause, then another pleased smile. "Both of you. I have already sent a scout out to appraise the Looking Glass. His report," He picked up some papers from his desk and rustled them accordingly, marked with a coffee ring in one corner, "Leads me to believe that there is a slim to none monster population in that area, at least, in the areas that have been shallowly explored. I would still expect a random encounter or two, however. It is a pretty level place, with no upper or lower cavities discovered so far. That is about all I can tell you at the moment, the rest you will need to uncover for yourself. It is slightly northwest from town, about an hours travel on horseback with good weather. I shall have a map made up for you when you decide to go. Do you approve of this?"

Standing up from his seat, Berlitz reached out for the money and took it, nodding respectfully at his young patron. "It is satisfactory," He said, "Come on, Catherine. Let's go." The little girl slid out of her large chair and beamed happily at Alexander while taking her father's hand, glad that her daddy had been able to find himself some work. If the blue-haired man had given it to him, then he must have been a nice man as well. Leaning over from his desk, Alexander patted her gently on the head and then gestured to the open door, kindly asking them to leave, now that the meeting was over with. Berlitz didn't need to be told twice. He had gotten what he had come for, and that was that. Guiding Catherine away with him, he closed the door carefully and sighed.

__

So this commission will be unlike all the other ones I have undertaken before. It will be dangerous, and there will even be the threat of monster attack. I cannot take Catherine with me this time, it would be too dangerous for her. But, there are no day care centers in this town, and I cannot just leave her at the inn with nothing to do all the time… I do believe that I am in quite a pickle today…

Courteously nodding to the secretary outside, Berlitz made his way out of the large estate and back into the streets of upper-class Little Twister, walking slowly so that Catherine could keep up with him. The buildings here were rich and very beautiful in an architectural sense, but there were no people around, giving the place a very lonesome look about it. Things seemed to perk up a little when they crossed the train tracks to the more normal side of town, heading back towards their inn room. It was the older part of the morning right now, and the poorer areas of the town were alive with the hustle and bustle of everyday folk going about their business, living their own lives within Berlitz's own.

__

Yet I know that this so called 'Looking Glass' will be a very interesting venture. I wonder why it is called that? I suppose I shall find out soon enough. I will need to hire bodyguards, though, and good ones at that. But a thousand gella will barely be able to hire me three satisfactory guards, let alone all that **and** supplies. That Alexander fellow probably understands this too. He must be testing me. I know that he was kind and fair… but I don't know… I just do not like him…

"Daddy, that man was nice." Catherine informed him in her pure little opinion. "Is he gonna be your boss now? Are you going to go find old stuff for him? I like the stuff you bring home sometimes, they're pretty and smell funny." She was balancing herself on the very edge of the pavement and walking along it like how a tight rope walker travels along a thick taut length of twine, still holding onto her father's hand for support. Keeping her eyes forward, she was stable enough to continue. Taking note of something in front of her, her chain of thought was broken and switched over to something else. "Oh look, Daddy! A book store!" She paused, turning her gaze to it. "Can you get me a new storybook soon, Daddy? We can read it together, we can."

"Perhaps some other time." Berlitz replied distantly, still thinking about other things and gently pulling his daughter away from the store she was gawking at. "I need to find a few workers who don't mind working for a low wage." He said to himself out loud, rubbing his chin slightly in thought. "Bright ones that aren't greedy or lazy, too. Where on Filgaia will I find people like that?" Shrugging away his quiet ramblings, Berlitz silenced himself and spent the rest of the walk back to the inn in deep ponderous thought, trying to come up with an answer. And his questions about the Looking Glass still loomed ominously over his head, like an expectant storm cloud.

"Well, whut an' interesting sit-u-ation…" Said Manna calmly, sitting on the steps just outside the book store, a small picture book spread open in her lap, containing the basic ABCs. She had the book upside-down by mistake, but didn't notice this. "That's the pigeon from the other day, Ah think. Looks laike he's in a bit of a mess. Ah'd betta give 'im mah support." She turned a page in her book over, looked at it, then closed the book entirely and stood up, taking into her arms the small quart of milk she had bought as well. "Those bums could do with a bit 'o work, anyhow."

Turning, Manna walked back home.

xxx

Iyosuke had his eyes closed, his hands over his face. He had been told to do this every time Manna was about to let off some steam. When she had returned, she had firstly seen Ravendor trying to noogie and strangle Clive to death, while the younger green-haired child had sunk his teeth into Ravendor's arm and was gnawing as hard as he possibly could, elbowing him in the stomach at the same time. Andrew was standing next to Iyosuke, just watching and trying not to get involved. He had the right idea, Iyosuke thought. To his eyes, Iyosuke thought that Clive and Ravendor were just a pair of silly-billies. Without sight, all Iyosuke could hear was the voices now.

"Whut in tarnation are you'se two doin'?!"

"Well, we was-"

"S'not my fault, it was his! Clive started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did _not!_"

"Did _too!_"

"I 'dun' _care_ who started it, y'all comin' with _me_ now!" A pause, then twin shouts of pain. "You too, Mongo!"

"Wha? But I didn't do nothin- Ow! Owowowowowowow… alright already! Geez…"

Iyosuke heard the sound of dragging now, followed by the scuffy noises of somebody trying to keep up with said dragging. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to look now, so he waited until he couldn't hear anything anymore, then removed his hands away from his eyes. He was alone in the courtyard, the little model plane sitting in his lap. Looking around, he deduced that the rest of his friends must have gone inside.

Getting clumsily to his feet, he ran off to show the rest of the younger children the little treasure that he had found.

xxx

Berlitz was seated in a comfortable wicker chair outside the inn, sipping a cup of morning tea with a newspaper folded in his lap. He felt content to spend the rest of the day with Catherine, who was sitting on the edge of it's wooden verandah, her hands grasping the pine railing. There was a soft breeze blowing and it fluttered the ribbons in her hair, making the little girl hold them back delicately, enjoying the soft caress of the wind on her face. A tumbleweed blew past, rolling gaily down the street with it's own hidden agenda. The sign above her head swung slightly too, the chipped words 'Crossfire Inn' losing a bit more of it's paint. Catherine felt like playing, but she didn't have anyone to play with, which made her day considerably more boring than others that she could recall. Turning her head a little, she looked down the street and blinked. Some people were approaching, and it mostly seemed to be against their will.

"Oh Mr. Sir!"

Manna walked as purposefully as an eight year old could, dragging both Black Shuck brothers with her with each hand, Andrew trailing behind her with a look if mild confusion on his face. The young Baskar girl was stretching her mouth with a wide grin, painted there to hide her other emotions. Clive and Ravendor could have easily torn themselves away from her and run away, but that would have meant that they would still have to face her never-ending wrath later on, and besides, they were mildly intrigued themselves. She had never punished them like this before. Sidling up to the wooden verandah that Berlitz and Catherine were sitting on, Manna let go of them and forced them to line up with Andrew, and now they were facing the old professor and standing at attention, like a small trinity of soldiers.

"Hmm, what's this?" Berlitz asked, putting his cup of tea down and his paper away, standing up in the presence of a lady, even if it was a very small one. The three boys standing there glanced away bashfully when Berlitz took note of them, feeling uncomfortable and having to stand there in the full view of somebody that they had tried to swindle. It was like they had all been caught in the midst of some kind of horrible act. Even though Manna was just as guilty as the others were, she didn't seem to show this at all. Berlitz looked confused, so Manna decided to explain.

"Mr. Sir," The little girl said politely, "Ah overheard that you need people that don't get paid much for your work, an' Ah think that these three fellers'll lend you a hand for minimum wage. They're bums, ya see. They need to work soon or they'll be bums forevah." She smiled at Berlitz cutely and clasped her pudgy little hands together. "Mongo's good at lifting things an' Missanga's really quick and fast, like a jackrabbit. Swanky can do a bit 'o both, and he don't complain neither. They'se be good boys, Ah reckon." Getting the gist of what Manna was talking about, Ravendor bowed on reflex. Andrew followed him clumsily a few seconds later and Clive turned to regard them confusedly, until Ravendor kicked him in the ankle and forced Clive to bow and do the same. The green-haired boy felt stupid, but went along with it anyway.

Catherine made a mental connection and pointed at Clive accusingly. "I remember you! You're that nasty thief!" She proclaimed loudly, not with any anger or dislike, just with simple recognition of his face. Clive looked up for a second and stuck his tongue out at her, but Ravendor kicked him again and he went back to his submissive stance once more. Berlitz recognised him too and scratched his chin, in thought. Even if Alexander had assured him that there were no monsters in the ruin, he didn't want to bring along with him children that had no experience with matters like this. They appeared to be young too, none of them seemed any older than ten years of age. He was desperate for help, but not _that_ desperate just yet. Putting children in danger was not an idea he savored with any particular relish. But still, he couldn't refuse the little girl outright, especially when she seemed so dead set in her idea. Maybe he could improvise, perhaps? He _did_ want to know how she had 'overheard' him, however.

"That is a kind offer, uh…" Berlitz asked her name and she gave it readily, "Manna? Oh, yes. That is a kind offer, Manna, but I do not want to be responsible for children in the place that I will be going. You see, I do grown up work, and I need other grown ups to do the work with me. Not children. I am sorry, my dear. I can't take them with me." He remembered his thoughts on compromise and added, gesturing to Andrew, "That big lad, perhaps, if he is as strong as he looks," He said, "But young Clive would be too little to be of use, and if a monster attacks, he would be in too much danger." Berlitz switched his focus to Ravendor. "And it would not be befitting of me to take a young lady to such a dangerous place."

After Berlitz's speech, something in the three boys seemed to go off, like a responsive trigger. Andrew just smiled dumbly, but Clive's face went bright red with indignation, and Ravendor brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on the joint of his index finger, trying to keep his ire inside around the adults. Manna looked at them, to see what they would do.

"Little?!" Clive cried angrily, straightening up from his bow. "I ain't too little! I can fight monsters, I've fought a ton of them before an' I even won! Just because Mongo's bigger than me doesn't mean that he's better!" A fire rose up in the little boy's heart, and Clive realised that no matter where the old professor was going now, he knew that he had to go too. His pride couldn't take anything other than that. If Berlitz was going to hire his subordinates, then he had better hire him as well. Clive knew that he was just as useful as the other two, if not more so. His hand went to grip his missanga anyway, something he did when he was agitated. "I'm good luck! I'm Missanga! Take me along and I'll bring you good luck, I swear!"

"… I'm a boy." Ravendor deadpanned with concealed anger, keeping his gaze at the ground. "Remember me? We met a few days ago in the marketplace. I am not a girl."

Andrew scratched the back of his head, slightly flattered for meeting Berlitz's standards. "Gee, if the pay's decent I'll give it a try." He chuckled. "But give the boss a break, he's tellin' the truth, ya know. He can pull the ears off an orc if he tries hard enough. An' Swanks looks like a girl but he ain't no girl, if you get my meaning. He knows his letters as well, if that helps any. He has a formal _ed-du-ma-cation_."

"I can read and write some words, as long as they are not too big." Ravendor said proudly, as if it was all the explanation and credentials he needed in the world.

"They'se be good boys." Manna repeated, then threw in her own part of the bargain. "An when y'all are out 'o town, Ah can play with your girlie so's she has someone to talk to, okay? Ah can plainly see that she's got nuthin' else ta do. You'se been worryin' that she'll get lost an' in trouble in this here town? Ah'll keep her outta harm's way. You can trust me, 'cause you'll be keepin' my boys with you as… as…"

"Collateral." Ravendor finished for her.

"Yeah, whut he said." Manna agreed with a smile.

"How did you…" Berlitz began, about to voice his confusion out loud but then decided to give up. He had to admit, the children in this town seemed to be smarter than others, and far more cunning to boot. And, he reasoned with himself, if they had gotten this far without adult supervision, then they must have a good idea on what they were doing. The three boys had looked reluctant when they first got there, but now they seemed quite eager, determined to fight for the little amount of pride that they had. Berlitz sighed, his resolve wavering. "This will not be a cake walk." He admitted. "It will be a dangerous ruin excavation with a chance of monsters. Do you understand?"

Clive laughed. "A ruin? That's all? You're all worked up over one dinky little ruin? Hell, Swanks an' I play up there all the time in most of 'em. Ain't that right Swanky?" Ravendor grinned and nodded. "Yeah. Maybe we'se can be more useful than some 'o the other guys that you could'a hired. We'll ask for…" The three boys all exchanged a glance, almost seeming to be communicating telepathically. "Fifty gella each. Better than the best offer, no?"

Berlitz couldn't deny it, it was a damn good deal. Even the cheapest adult would have asked for at least three hundred gella, and with this, he'd be able to get some decent equipment as well. Yes, maybe it would be best to… No! He couldn't walk into a dangerous place flanked by children! What was he thinking?!

He'd hire one drifter to come with them, at least then things would even out.

"…Alright." Berlitz conceded, defeated. "Come back here in one week's time to go. We will be heading for the Looking Glass. I accept."


	4. To The Looking Glass

The week passed quickly for both parties involved, far too quickly for it to be natural. Berlitz took the rest of his spare gella and hired two moderately strong horses for transportation and to carry the equipment, particularly good equipment as well, as the old professor had had enough gella left to get a hold of some pretty good tools of the archaeological trade. He had also hired a more qualified drifter to accompany him and his other three wards, who had not been expensive but had not been cheap either. The night before the day of departure he had gotten everything ready to leave and Catherine had tried to help him as well, although she couldn't really do much more than carry the lighter equipment over to its spot by the horses. The older drifter had been informed to come to the Crossfire Inn at eight in the morning, and the others knew to come there as well, because that was when the original arrangements had been made.

Clive had spent the most of the week in fiery-hearted impatience and anticipation, play fighting with Andrew as often as possible, and if that option was not available, he spent a lot of time running around the southern part of Little Twister in order to get rid of all his excess energy, which was usually diverted into his hobby of thieving, but he had decided to take a brief hiatus from that until the heat between himself and Berkley had died down a little. So this legitimate job was a lucky break for him, something to do until he could pick up on his thieving again. He would show Berlitz that he wasn't just some ordinary little boy, he was more than that, much more. He was Missanga, the Black Shuck leader.

Now Andrew, his blunt mind and short memory caused him to totally forget about the excavation altogether and he spent the week just as he always did, whittling away the hours by fighting Clive and playing around like a kid should, sometimes spending his evenings helping to clean up and taking away scraps from a few of the more rowdy taverns for his dinner. Clive reminded him the day before they were meant to leave, expecting Andrew to panic and back out of the operation, but all he did was smile and nod, saying; "Okie doke." He then tied a string around his finger so he wouldn't forget again.

Exactly one week after the arranged date for the three children to visit the Looking Glass was made, Andrew, Clive and Ravendor were loitering around outside of the Crossfire Inn, waiting for Berlitz and Catherine to arrive. Manna was sitting down on the steps of the building's verandah, Lucy at her feet. Clive had dressed a little more preparedly for the upcoming event, wearing a dusty and moth-eaten poncho over his other thin and raggedy clothing, and he had even bought himself a small pair of shoes with the little extra money he had found lying around his room, nothing special, but they were stout enough to be worn. In fact, Manna had even chided him to brush his hair properly, and he had tied it back as well, so it wouldn't get in the way. Clive was pacing impatiently outside of the inn, his little hands in his pockets. He had never done legitimate work for anybody before, and he hoped it wouldn't be too hard.

The store next to the inn was a small and cozy little hobby shop, complete with little trinkets and gizmos sitting neatly in the wide and clear glass window out the front. Ravendor was standing outside of the window with both his hands pressed up against the glass, looking intently at the merchandise within. The stuff there was incredibly expensive and outside the price range of just about any child in the township, but it still didn't deter at least ten children every day from standing outside of the store and staring, wishing that it was like Christmas and they could take whatever they wanted. Ravendor wasn't dressed any differently except for the fact that he was carrying with him a medical supply bag that was partially empty, because medicine was hard to get and they would probably need extra space to bring back all the loot they would be searching for.

Andrew was leaning against the rail of the verandah, absently chewing on his thumbnail in a slightly worried manner. It was only a step upwards from thumb sucking, but Andrew was a big boy now, and big boys didn't suck their thumbs like babies, did they? Nail chewing was good enough for him, and it made him a little more relaxed than he probably would have been. He always felt slightly nervous every time he had had to leave town, even if it was for only a very small journey to a nearby ruin. This was a good opportunity for him to take, and he wanted the money being offered behind it, but still, it didn't stop him from being nervous. Andrew was just wearing jeans, a ripped brown shirt, and boots, the perfect example of a redneck country bumpkin.

Lucy lifted her shaggy head and let out a wide canine yawn, prompting Manna to lean over and pat the large animal on the head, wondering when Berlitz and his daughter would appear. She would have to watch out for that girl while her father was away, but Manna thought that it couldn't be too difficult, as long as she wasn't any more rambunctious than the kiddies back home. Looking over to Clive, Manna could see that the little boy was going to wear out his new shoes prematurely from his apprehensive pacing, on his face written a look of jumpy concentration. Andrew seemed to have a similar look on his face, and Ravendor seemed to be immune to the anxiety, setting his mind on something else.

"You know what happened? Do you really want to know what happened? The Spirit of Saint Louis came out last month," The dark-haired boy whined, "But they want one thousand gella for one. One thousand gella!" He hung his head in shame as Clive stopped pacing and approached him from behind, standing by his older brother's side. "I could never possibly afford that." Ravendor removed his hands from the store window in defeat. "Not in a million billion years. I will be an old man by then, how unfair."

"Why do you care so much about stuff like that?" Clive asked him, folding his arms across his small front and slightly cocking his head to one side. "They cost a lot, and they're not food, you can't eat it, an' if you play with it, it'll probably break in a week or two. Waste of money, so why?" He smiled. "I'd rather have a bear or something, even if, well, you know, they're for babies and stuff."

"Because I want one, isn't that reason enough?" Ravendor replied simply, turning to his younger brother. He opened his mouth to say something extra, but fell quiet when they both heard the quiet squeaking of rusty hinges nearby, the front door of the Crossfire swinging open with a mild grating sound. Berlitz stepped through after a moment, the short man burdened down with a backpack that looked to be obviously too heavy for him. He stepped out of the threshold and dumped the large bag on the wooden surface of the verandah, startling Lucy a little who had almost slipped into a small doze. Little Catherine followed him with a spring in her step, standing next to, but a little behind her father's side.

The old man watched the three boys assemble at the foot of the verandah's staircase, like a trinity of little soldiers. Manna didn't stand up, but she pulled Lucy out of the way, turning around a little to look at the old professor. Berlitz took note of their presence. "I see, right on time." He said, "That's very good indeed. How is everybody? Are you all well?" Clive, Ravendor and Andrew all nodded in unison, then they returned to staring at the ground, uniformly answering the question without really heeding what it was. They were just trying to be polite. "Excellent. Chins up, lads, this isn't a funeral we are going to, well, at least I hope it is not. Do not look so strict, I refuse to lead a death march into the wilderness." Berlitz laughed at this, but it seemed like he was the only one who got the joke.

Clive looked up and smiled warily. Although Berlitz wasn't an enemy, he was still wasn't high up on Clive's 'Bestest Best Buddies That Can Be Trusted List' just yet. "You already know me, right? Alrighty." He waved a hand in Andrew's direction, on his left. "This is Andrew, we'se call 'im Mongo for short. His interests include sleepin' and eatin' candy. He's not too smart 'tho." He repeated the same gesture to Ravendor, on his right. "An' this is Ravendor, but his name's too long and weird so's we just call him Swanky. He also likes sleepin' and readin' stuff. We are…" Clive cleared his throat and shouted this next part out loud, startling Lucy from her nap. "The Black Shuck Gang!"

"Well, I am Berlitz Erdesparen, and this is my daughter, Catherine Erdesparen. You can all called me Professor, because I didn't spent six years of my life studying archaeology just to be called 'Mister', let me tell you." Berlitz admitted with a hearty chuckle, gesturing for the three children, along with Manna, to come inside. "Come on. We have plenty of time before we leave. Let's have some early morning tea and scones, and if you are too young for tea I can get you some milk instead."

The three boys seemed to brighten and liven up at this promise of food. "Really?" They all said at exactly the same time.

Berlitz nodded. "Indeed. You all look quite underfed anyway."

"Yay!"

He was very nearly knocked over by the hasty progression inside.

xxx

The children of the Black Shuck gang ate like a small army. It wasn't surprising, as a free meal was something that only happened once every blue moon, so it made perfect sense that they'd milk an opportunity to its fullest potential. The three boys, two girls and one adult were ringed around Berlitz's coffee table, sitting cross-legged like they were attending some kind of cultural ceremony. Andrew and Clive were eating like they had been starved for a week and had forgotten what food tasted like, the younger one seeming to have hollow legs in the way that he was cramming food into his face. It was a wonder that he hadn't choked. Andrew found that his biscuits tasted better when he dunked them inhis milk, but a few of them broke off halfway and turned his drink all mushy. The large and inquisitive boy was now adding more in to make some kind of chunky looking porridge, then he drunk it down with a happy and goofy grin on his face.

Ravendor was starving as well but decided not to succumb to desire, retaining his manners and just drinking his tea quietly in the corner. It was a huge inner battle for him, because Clive had made it a habit of his to steal Ravendor's food as often as he possibly could. He hadn't eaten well in about three days or so, he reckoned. Catherine was sitting next to him and colouring in her little colouring book, filling in a picture of a butterfly in the grass. She was remarkably good at keeping her crayon within the lines. Manna was on the opposite side of Catherine, looking down at the table quietly. She wasn't hungry. Lucy was wandering around outside and whining, as the Crossfire Inn had a strict 'no pets' policy to uphold. She wanted to be inside, wherever Clive was.

Berlitz was secretly amazed at how much food a group of small kids could eat at once. He reminded himself that they were all growing children, and probably malnourished ones at that, but still, it was something to see. He drunk his tea while waiting for the others to finish, thinking about the task at hand. The other drifter he had hired was downstairs in the stables making last minute preparations, and two strong horses with two people mounted on each of them, carrying supplies as well, it should be enough for them to handle. Berlitz continued to feel unease whenever he thought about all the worst case scenarios that could happen while they were in the Looking Glass, especially involving the children, but he had already sown the seeds, he might as well reap while he still had the chance. He expected that the two boys were looking forward not only to the pay, but to the adventure itself as well.

__

Two boys… Oh dear oh dear…

He hadn't counted wrong. Berlitz had done a lot of thinking about this. His conscience was already against him regarding bringing children into a dangerous environment, but it basically screamed at him when he thought about the little green-haired boy, Clive, three years younger than the other two bigger and stronger boys. He was only a few years out of babyhood, how could Berlitz possibly endanger such a life as that? At least the older boys, Andrew and Ravendor, they had matured enough to start learning a proper trade, Berlitz himself had begun working when he was only one year older, even if it no longer had any bearing on his profession today. But that was besides the point. Clive was too young to be a drifter just yet.

Which was why he wasn't going to let Clive go. He hoped that the boy would be able tounderstand.

Catherine crammed a scone into Ravendor's mouth when the boy opened it to say something relevant to their mission, but found himself choking and coughing on a baked good instead. Catherine started to laugh and clap her hands in delight. Andrew spilt chunky milk all over his front when Ravendor elbowed him in the side during the midst of his choking attack, the large boy wiping off the mushy chunks of biscuits from his ripped up old shirt. Manna started to help him clean up. Clive was too busy eating to give a damn.

__

Children… Thank the Guardians I only have one…

Berlitz stood up once he finished his tea, taking care because he had a bit of a bad back. Five eager faces looked up at him expectantly. It was somewhat creepy, in a cute way. The mess they had made didn't matter, housekeeping would take care of that while they were out working. The professor cleared his throat, remembering to dumb his speech down a little so that the children could understand. "You all understand that we will be going to the Looking Glass, correct? Nobody has forgotten?" A round of nods. They all understood. "Very well. The Looking Glass is a very large ruin where you can easily get lost. I do not want any of you children to go anywhere unless you are with an adult. We will be looking for relics and analyzing the ruins themselves. I will show a few of you how to work some of the more basic equipment. If you can read then I also want you to take notes."

Ravendor raised his hand. "I volunteer!" He said.

"Can I beat up the bad guys?" Andrew chimed in as well.

"In verity, there won't be any monsters in the ruins, young lad, so there would be nobody for you to beat up." Berlitz answered. "And yes, if you can write, then an extra scribe would be most helpful. As for the girls, I would like you to stay around here and amuse yourselves for the time being, but please don't stray too far from this inn. In fact, yes, don't leave this inn at all, alright?"

"Okay Daddy." Catherine agreed cutely. "But can we still go out and play on the porch? Please?"

"As long as you are not by yourself, Cathy. Stay with the older kids. You understand?" She nodded her acknowledgement. Berlitz ticked something off the chart in his mind and moved on. "We will be travelling there on horseback. It should take about an hour to get there, and excavation and a minimal analysis should take up the greater part of the day. We will pack up and leave an hour before sundown and be back here by the time the sun sets. I will give you your pay, and if I am pleased with your work, I may contact you again."

"Sir, will your approval of our work stem from overall progress during the excavation, or will it be determined by our own individual efforts?" Ravendor asked innocently.

Clive started to giggle. "Swanky says funny words sometimes!" He declared.

"Oh, individually, of course. It would be unfair to you if our mission turned up utterly fruitless. But, even if we do not find anything in there, as long as we search the place out, Mr. Iscariot, our sponsor, should be pleased."

The green-haired boy stopped giggling suddenly and became dead serious. The change was so sudden it was nearly frightening. "You mean Iscarryot as in big cheese Alex Ander Iscarryot?" He questioned gravely.

"That's _Alexander Iscariot_, Clive." Ravendor corrected tonelessly.

"That's what I said!" Clive replied loudly, raising a tiny fist. "We're really workin' for _him_? Old man, don't you know that he _owns_ this town?" He thought about this for a few seconds. "…Cool! You know what this means, guys? An order from Iscarryot means that it's an order from the whole _town_ as well! So, whatever we do reflects on the big cheeses as well. This like… whoa… like we're on a mission from _God_ or somethin'!" Clive swelled with pride at the thought. He had never been part of something so important before.

"Nothing _that_ elaborate, lad." Berlitz said, trying to calm the boy down with his words. "Just a simple excavation. But simplicity does not rule out danger, so everybody that is going must be careful. I know I am repeating myself, but I cannot stress this fact enough." He paused, letting his words sink in. "If everyone is full, then I would like to head on downstairs to the stables now. Horatio must be waiting for us."

"Horatio…?" Clive repeated, wondering who that was.

xxx

Horatio turned out to be a young drifter somewhere in his mid-twenties, tall, unshaven and evenly built with dirty fair hair and a bit of an unwashed feeling around him, like his appearance took a backseat to his job and reputation. Of course, with a good wash or two he would have turned into quite a presentable gentleman, but his voice was rough and blunt, just like a Little Twister native should be. He was dressed in proper drifter garb and was saddling up one of the horses when Berlitz entered the stables with the younger ones, making him pauseand look over the odd little congregation. Confusion eventually led onwards into amenity and he laughed affably, letting go of the horse's saddle on it's back.

"Hot damn! When you said you was gonna bring along a kindergarten I thought you was joking! Are you gonna be teaching a history class or something today? Aw, look at the little tykes, they're barely outta their diapers yet! Won't a _real_ adventure make them cry?"

Berlitz was about to say something, but Clive cut him off. "Hey, who are you callin' a kindergarten, old man?! We're a buncha _bona fide_ thieves and cutthroats, you'se got that? Jus' cause we're little don't mean that we're not tough! Half 'o us would cut yer throat as soon as _look_ at yer! Ain't you never seen a gang before?" Ravendor put his hand on Clive's shoulder and the younger boy immediately calmed down. Clive just hated being called a kid.

The old professor cleared his throat and the drifter laughed again. "Little or not, that young'un sure is a fiery one! Sounds like he'd have real potential in a few years or so." He adjusted the straps on the horse carefully, kneeling to get at the buckles under the horse's belly. "These are some real good rides. You said you got them from some old crazy farmer, Professor? He must've been crazy to part with beasts like these ones."

"We are only renting them, Horatio." Berlitz told him.

Horatio stood back up. "Yeah, I know. I hope the kids know how to ride them properly. Now, lookie here." He patted the one he had been fussing over. "This one, her name is Pudding." Then he jerked his thumb over to the other horse, already perfectly ready to go. "And that little beauty over there, her name is Muffin. Odd names, the owner _must_ have been a few traps short of a dungeon. But that's okay, they're still nice and healthy. Hey kids, come over and look."

Pudding and Muffin were two fairly young mares that Berlitz had hired for the day for a fairly low price, and they had the good natured calm of animals that seemed to make them much older than their real age, the perfect pair for Berlitz and his team of excavators. Pudding was completely jet black except for a small splodge of white on her forehead, but she was still a little small for her age, while Muffin was larger and was a light nut-brown colour, with an ebony black mane. They were munching contentedly on hay, and Manna let out a delighted squeal and rushed over to one of them, reaching up to pat the horse's plump side. Catherine went with her and soon both of the girls were patting the horses and giggling, like old friends.

Ravendor was eyeing the darker horse suspiciously. "They don't bite, do they, mister…?"

"Horatio. Horatio Homebush. That's my name, don't wear it out." The fair drifter said cheerfully. "These horses are only little young'uns themselves. They only just turned two years old, according to their crazy owner. I think they're good girls, they won't bite. Have you had any lessons?"

"Yes, but I don't remember them very well. I was too little."

"That's okay, the adults won't let you fall off. I reckon we can fit two per horse, that should work well enough. Professor!" Horatio turned to Berlitz. "Fully laden and double mounted, you won't be able to get much more outta these ladies other than a trot or a slow canter. Galloping is out of the question, unless you want to lose half your load and your other passenger. Is that still okay?"

"We are in no rush, Horatio. That will be fine." Smiled the older man.

"Wait a second." Said Clive, still standing near the doorway of the stables. Something about this setup was bothering him. If they had two horses, and each horse could hold two people, and if Berlitz, Horatio, Ravendor and Andrew went, like they were supposed to, where would he be sitting? The numbers didn't match up. In fact, it didn't look like there was any room left. Clive suddenly felt odd, like little cold fingers were poking around on the inside of his stomach. "…Which horse do I get to ride on?" He asked in a small voice, cloaking his uncertainty with an innocent question.

Berlitz cleared his throat again, patting his chest a little to get his lungs and vocal chords working properly. This was going to be a hard thing for him to say. "Lad…" He began, "You will not be going. You are going to stay here and play with Catherine and the other girl like a good boy. You are just too young right now, Clive. Maybe in a year or two, I will be happy to let you help me, but as you are…" His sentence trailed off when he noticed the hurt look on Clive's face. The old professor hastily scrambled to construct a new one again. "Your two friends are really all the help that I will need. I thank you for bringing them to me, truly, but I do not want you to be in any danger. Please remain here."

Ravendor sighed a little, lightly scratching his cheek. "I was sort of expecting something like that, Clive. I really should have told you-"

"_It's not fair!_"

The hurt look that Clive was displaying quickly turned into one of anger. His face turned red and he balled his little hands up into fists, getting ready for a tantrum. Ravendor immediately went quiet. "It's not fair! It's not fair! I waited for _ages_ for something like this! Why does everyone think I'm not good enough?! I am! I'm not a little kid!" His voice was beginning to crack a little with held back tears. "D'you think a little kid would be wanted by the county po-lice?! Would a baby spend a night in a jail cell?!" Clive glanced up. It looked like he was going to start crying at any minute. "_I'm not a little kid!_"

__

His pride is badly damaged. I really cannot blame him for his outburst…

"I understand that, Clive." Berlitz said softly. "But you still cannot go. If you are as grown up as you say you are, then you must accept my authority on this matter. No. And that is final."

As soon as Clive heard the word 'no', it was like somebody had pulled the plug on his mind and all the anger in his head had just drained away down the plug hole, making him dreadfully conscious of the tears welling behind his eyes. 'No' was the word that Clive used on Lucy whenever he had had enough. Was Clive really on the same status to Berlitz as what a dog was to him? Was he nothing more than a dog?

Yeah, a flea-bitten dog from the streets. That was what he was. He had been rescued from the pound, but Berlitz was going to dump him back on the streets again because he was the runt of the litter. Clive blinked a couple of times, clearing his tear-blurred vision. His look of anger and rage had boiled down to simple surprised confusion, his thin little arms dropping to his sides. His voice was dazed, not all there.

"…Okay, old man. Sorry fer troublin' ya. Go and find a lotta treasure, 'kay? See ya later Swanks, Mongo. I'm goin' home…"

The stable doors were wide open. He could see the main street from there. Good, Clive wanted to leave. The little raggedy boy turned to go, not even looking back. Ravendor battled something inside him and bit his lip in apprehension. "Clive, wait!" He called, "Maybe we can trade places-"

"Forget it. I'm outta here." Came the reply, and then the boy was gone.

xxx

Before it had been discarded, the blank and dented can that Clive was kicking down the street had used to contain tomato soup, but all it did now was provide an upset six year old with a cheap form of entertainment. It rolled to a halt on the path, stayed there for a few moments, and then was kicked further ahead into the dusty road, where Clive was too downhearted to retrieve it again. He had hated being referred to as a little kid, especially by older grown ups who should have had the wisdom to leave him alone. He didn't become the leader of a gang without at least having _some_ kind of use about him, even if that use was contained in his small and outwardly frail body. Clive looked at his tiny little hand, small even for his own age and clenched it tightly, feeling his nails biting into the thin skin of his palm.

The thing he had hated the most about what Berlitz had said was that Clive was not only little, but that they wouldn't need him anyway. He had been rejected. Clive hated that word and the meaning that was behind it. Rejecting his offer of help was no better than rejecting himself as a person, and rejection was the very same thing that had caused him to live on the streets in the first place. If Andrew could give help, and if Ravendor could give help as well, then why not he? Clive had played in nearly all of the ruins there anyway, so it wasn't even dangerous. Was the old man afraid of a guilt trip if he accidentally died there, which was impossible? Clive thought that he should not have been punished for Berlitz's own failings, because that was justunfair.

"It's not fair!" He cried out in a tantrum-like outburst, stamping one foot on the ground and not caring who saw him do it.

"Missangah! Wait!" Came a shout from behind him, prompting the little boy to turn around from the cry. It sounded urgently important. Clive's face was still a little red from indignation, but Manna's face was even redder than that as she ran up to him, dragging little Catherine with one hand. Compared to Manna who was bigger, darker and older than her, Catherine appeared to be like a fragile porcelain doll. She was fine, while Manna had to take a few seconds to get her wind back, all puffed out.

"What?" Clive said defensively. "You come to laugh at me, Manna?"

Manna decided to ignore Clive's reproachful look. She knew he was just feeling upset. "Missangah, don't feel so bad about Mr. Pigeon Mahn not wantin' yer help. Ah don't reckon it were yer own fault or failings. Ah reckon…" She lifted the hand that was holding onto Catherine's hand. "It were because yer the same age as his daughter, Sanga. He's gonna treat you laike he treats her, wheather ya laike it or not. Girly here agrees with me, right?"

Catherine nodded. "Daddy does that a lot. It's his way."

"Yer not gonna run away from him, are you, Missangah?" Manna asked him innocently, hiding the double meaning of her sentence. Clive's blue eyes seemed to ice over at this remark and he stood as tall as he could, furious that one of his own teammates could accuse _him_ of running away. How could Manna think that? Didn't she see how badly he _wanted_ to go? The dark-skinned girl smiled knowingly. "Ah seen it, Sangah. You wanna know more about the pigeon mahn, as much as you can. Ah'm not _stupid_, ya know. You're bein' the stupid one, runnin' away like this."

"I'm _not_ stupid!" Clive cried out. "I _wanna_ go! I _should_ go! But they won't let me…" The loudness of his voice dropped one or two octaves when he finally gave in to what he knew was true. "They don't need me there. The old man said so. He picked Mongo and Swanky, but he doesn't need me at all. I'm much better than they are. 'Wish I could prove it…"

"If ya really wanna prove it," Manna said with that strange, yet somehow wise smile on her young face, "Then why are you walkin' back home? You're going the wrong way, Missangah. They way yer 'sposed to be goin' is back the way you came. You won't accomplish nuthin' if ya go back to yer room and mope about, an' about the pigeon man, you'll prolly nevah see 'im again. You really want that to happen?"

It took Clive a few good seconds for Clive to process and respond to what Manna had just said. He was still wallowing in his own rejection, although his anger had managed to fade away. Clive's young voice wasa monotone. "Huh. I get it now. But still…"He muttered into his chest, looking at the ground. "There's nuthin' I can do about it anymore. They've probably already left."

"Uh-uh! Wrong again! They all went indoors ta pick up their maps fer the journey." Manna said with great relish. "Ya still have a chance to show 'em yer stuff, little guy." Clive slowly looked up, taking a few steps away from her and backing up a little bit, trying to make up his mind. So they hadn't left yet. What should he do then, go back and beg Berlitz to let him go? That would defeat the entire point of going, to prove to Berlitz that he was more than what he outwardly appeared to be. He couldn't do that. He _did_ want to go, he _was_ going to go, but not to Berlitz's knowledge. That would just make him look like a whiny little kid who had to ask twice and complain a little bit more to get what he wanted. A small smile unknowingly crossed Clive's face.

There had to be some way to hop onto the bandwagon without any of the others knowing. Well, Clive swallowed hard, he'd just have to find a way when he'd get there. He ran back the way he had came, giving a brief grateful nod to Manna and Catherine when he passed them. The young Baskar girl waved as she watched him go. "Good luck!" She called, pleased.

"Does he always do whatever you want him to, Manna?" Catherine asked curiously, cocking her head slightly when she turned to the older girl.

Manna nodded and smiled brightly. "Yup! All the boys in mah little group, Ah've trained 'em all! That's what you gotta do in laife, Girly, ta get ya own way. It's some free advice." She let go of Catherine's hand and pointed back to the headquarters of the Black Shucks. It wasn't that far away and she could see the patched rooftops from there. "Now come on, Catherine. Ah'll introduce ya to the rest 'o the gang. You'll laike 'em."

They left, chatting all the while.

xxx

Clive entered the stables though the window instead of the main entranceway, even though the door had been left invitingly ajar. He figured he'd have less of a chance being caught this way, and liked the idea of stealth infiltration. He knew that this particular window had been stuck one third open for as far back as he could remember, and with a little contortionist expertise coupled with his already thin and wispy nature, Clive easily slid himself inside. Pudding and Muffin shuffled uneasily when they watched the human come in all by himself, wondering in their own horsy way what was going on. They had already been half laden for the impending journey, strapped up, saddled and nearly ready to go.

His foot caught on the window frame when he slipped half his body into the room. He wasn't used to moving around wearing shoes and had forgotten about how stiff this made his feet now. To prevent himself from accidentally twisting his ankle even before his adventure had begun, Clive let his entire body go limp and he was stuck there, dangling above the straw covered floor. He extended his arms and pressed the palms of his hands against the floor, adding pressure and a fraction of his body weight to his wrists so he could move his legs around without fear of losing balance and falling onto his face. Gently, he turned his ankle and his foot to the right by about ninety degrees, so the toe of his foot was no longer caught on the glass and upper frame of the window. He pulled it inside, along with his other, less bothersome leg. Clive was standing upside down now, so he threw his body weight forward and righted himself with an acrobat's flair, holding his arms out with a cheerful grin.

"I should join the circus, don't you think so, both you horsies?" He said to Pudding and Muffin as he turned to them, dusting off his pants. One of them whinnied in response, so Clive walked over to her and patted her softly on the nose. Clive thought that the horse's hair felt like silk, or at least, what he expected silk to feel like. Somebody had brushed her down expertly, he reckoned. This horse had a very large saddlebag slung over both her sides, equally laden with goods as to stabilize strain on each of the horse's sides. It would have made her more comfortable even if she was only carrying half of the load, as it wouldn't be pulling her down to one side. Clive patted the mare on the neck comfortingly and moved to one of the saddlebags, curious as to what was within.

The ceiling creaked a bit over Clive's head and he heard severely muffled voices through the thick wooden boards, too faint for him to tell what they were saying, or even to distinguish the voices. They were close by, though, and if they saw him, then his goose was indeed cooked, no matter what Manna had chosen to say. But whatever they were talking about, the conversation would not last forever, and Clive had to hide himself as quickly and as stealthily as possible. He opened the large saddlebag, fiddling with the tied leather cords that made up the strap, seeking what was inside it for answers.

It was mostly filled up with very large excavation tools, picks and shovels and such. They were long, thick and looking to be made for people far stronger than who was actually partaking in the mission. Berlitz was probably a little to inexperienced in practical archaeology to notice this, but Clive had found out this problem as soon as he had seen it. The little boy measured the length and depth of the saddlebag with his hands, making a rough estimation. It seemed big enough and wide enough to contain him, and Clive knew deeply in his little heart that he would be _far_ more useful than what some old picks and shovels ever could have been.

Clive had a hell of a time trying to remove the heavy instruments without making a large racket as a result. Firstly, he had to pull them up one by one, and secondly, the weight of the tools were not equal on both ends so he had a few close shaves when the heavy ends of the items nearly swung down onto his foot when he grasped their middles with both hands, the muscles in his thin arms straining from the pressure. Clive knew that he only had to remove enough stuff as to equal his own weight, so he took out two medium sized shovels and one large pick, putting them in a pile next to Pudding's bale of hay. They couldn't remain there, he had to place them somewhere inconspicuous so that they would not be found for a while, or at least for the rest of the day.

A few full burlap sacks stuff with oats proved to be Clive's answer. They were hardly noticeable and in the corner of the stable, probably only used when it was time for the horses to eat. One at a time, Clive wedged the stolen tools between two of the sacks and looked them over for any unwanted protrusions in case that gave him away. He didn't see any from the angle he was looking at and was satisfied with his work, patting the sacks down for luck.

The last part of his operation proved to be the easiest, and he was done in a matter of moments. He had seen a million different drifters mount a million different horses and he knew how itshould be done, he put his foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle tightly to swing his body over and onto it, only just succeeding because he was small for his age. Clive felt lucky that he hadn't needed a box to stand on, as that would have been noticed right away. It did feel quite awkward to sit on a horse by himself for the first time, and Pudding's body was big and round and made Clive feel like he was sitting on top of a wide wine barrel. He thought it must get really frightening on a horse when that horse was running through the plains as fast as it possibly could. Clive imagined what it must have felt like to fall off something moving that fast and then understood why only big, strong and fearless people decided to become drifters.

Not wanting to dwell on that thought any longer, Clive opened the flap of the saddlebag and allowed himself to tumble in and curl up in the cramped and dark area inside, the bag big enough to conceal him and still offer him a little comfort. It smelt like horses, leatherand mould but Clive didn't care. He was on his way to his very first adventure! The thought itself made him want to jump for joy. Remembering something important, Clive reached his hands out of the bag and blindly tried to retie the straps on the front of the saddlebag, unable to see what he was doing. If he poked his head out now, it would impede the bag itself from closing properly, and even, worse, somebody might catch him in the middle of his ploy. Poking his tongue out in concentration, Clive tied the best knot he could do without seeing it and hoped that nobody would notice that the knot was differently done, or that, despite Clive's efforts, one side of Pudding was lighter than the other side.

"Gotta be quiet now…" He whispered to himself as he lay in his dark little compartment, trying not to move. He wondered what the Looking Glass wouldbe like, and he also wondered what treasures they would find there. Clive wondered if Berlitz and the others would be able to appreciate his help, and pertaining to that, he wondered if he could live up to the high standards he had set for himself.

Pondering over matters like these, Clive vaguely heard the door open and the sound of voices filled the room, but he blocked them out and pretended that he was a kid sized shovel, getting into character for the journey ahead. As such, he pretended not to see and to hear, and thathe couldn't smell or talk either. Clive was young and had not gotten much sleep the night before, too excited about his journey, so when the darkness had grown accustomed to his presence, he went with it, into the darkness of dreamless sleep.

Clive's journey began even without him knowing it, and so too did the beginning of his journey as a drifter, a migratory bird of the wastelands.

xxx

Oddly enough, Pudding's rapidly moving hooves and the rhythmic stretches and contractions of her powerful muscles did not awaken Clive from his borrowed slumber, no, it was a very gradual return to consciousness that awaited him, the sleep seeming to be shed from his body one thin layer at a time. It felt warm and somewhat snuggly in the bag now, as the light of the sun had heated it up amply as the horse had traveled under its gaze for quite some time. Clive didn't have any problems with lying still for just a little while longer, he could tell from the vibrations coming from the outside that they had not stopped moving yet, and any new movements from him would definitely give away his hidden location and he'd get in a whole mountain of trouble.

He could hear that people were talking on the outside, their voices muffled by the thick leather of the saddlebag. Clive was lying on his side with one arm folded under his head to act as a pillow, resting in a half fetal position. That arm had gone a little numb and he wanted to move it around and get blood circulating again, fulfilling the need by very carefully rolling over, being as slow as he possibly could, and folding his other arm down to fulfill the duty that the previous limb had been charged with. He yawned silently, wondering if they were nearly there yet. He was starting to get a little bored, and guessed that maybe an hour had passed since he had crawled into the bag and had fallen asleep.

Outside, the two horses were being guided by Horatio and Berlitz as they traversed through the calm green plains that surrounded Little Twister, saddled down with gear and double mounted, each with one extra rider. Andrew was clinging anxiously to Horatio and the older drifter was trying to ignorehis tight and slightly uncomfortable grip, hoping that they would be getting there soon so he could get this giant of a boy off his back. Andrew had always had a small fear of high places, and sitting on top of a sturdy mare as she cantered through the wilderness counted as one of his very dangerous high areas. He was very nearly perspiring with fear.

Berlitz and Ravendor were on the other horse, running parallel with the one that Horatio was guiding and also being the one that was carrying their hidden third passenger. The old archaeologist kept on getting the odd feeling that Pudding was favoring one side more than the other, as if she was straining one side of her body with a little extra weight. Ravendor had noticed this as well, but didn't have the knowledge to distinguish this as an unfavorable change of affairs. He didn't bear a fear of heights either, so had no problem with their method of transportation at all. It was a lot easier than walking on foot, easily cutting the length of their journey in half.

"Excuse me, sir." Ravendor said above the sounds of the rushing of air and the horse's clomping feet. "What exactly is the Looking Glass? Why are we being commissioned to evaluate it when it has obviously been there for such a long time with no problems, and furthermore, what will be Andrew's and my own purpose on this excavation in the first place? Why do you need our help?"

"From what I have gathered from the reports Mr. Iscariot has provided me with, I can only say that it is a ruin where religious practices were held a good few thousand years ago, even before proper Guardian worship was practiced. I believe it will be like some kind of empty church." Berlitz hypothesized, half to himself and half to the younger lad behind him. He did have a very crude map to work with as well, though the design of the ruin when seen through the structure of the map made the Looking Glass appear to be more like a maze than a proper church ever could have been. It only had one level, but that level was big enough to be very confusing to somebody who would idly wander through.

"They say that place is haunted." Horatio inputted, trying to be helpful. "I hear no one loots that joint because the last lot of treasure hunters came back to town as white as a ghost and whispering that they heard voices in that place, and that shadows had a life of their own and moved by themselves. Some of them heard buzzings, cries, even screams in their heads. And even more, they also said this…" He turned to look Berlitz squarely in the eye, the expression on his face almost a daring one. "They also said that there be magic in them ruins, the kind that'll drive a man completely and totally mad."

"Magic?" Andrew said with awe, his eyes widening. "Really?"

"Nah." Horatio disagreed. "I don't believe it. It's a load of malarkey if you take my opinion on it. I think a few drifters went inside, got lost for far too long and were too embarrassed to admit it, so they made up this whole 'magic' bullshit just to explain away their failure. That kind of thing happens _all_ the time." He cleared his throat loudly and spat the excess phlegm out distastefully. "It's just the kind of thing that greenhorn wannabe drifters always do when their can't get over their own sorry selves. Both you kids get that, okay? Don't make excuses for failing if failing is what you really did."

"Yes sir." Both Andrew and Ravendor said simultaneously, at the same time. Secretly, Andrew was disappointed. He had always wanted to believe that magic was real, and that all the fantastic tales that had been written down into the storybooks read out to him had really happened. But when an adult said that magic was not real, then it was probably true. Adults were always right, that was one of the things that made them adults in the first place. Andrew sighed, agreeing with it while at the same time wishing to suspend that disbelief as well.

"…Sir?" Ravendor asked, addressing Berlitz. His voice sounded inquisitive but a little bit worried.

"What is it, lad?" The old archaeologist answered, feeling Pudding stagger a little when she accidentally trod on a stone the wrong way. They were climbing down a very small slope, and it was just the slightest bit dangerous now.

"Was it humans that made the Looking Glass? Or was it something else?"

"That is… a very good question." He said after a few moments of thought. "And it will be one of the questions we are going to try and answer once we get there. But there has only been a few sentient species of life forms that have lived on this planet so far, which will lower the selection considerably, I assure you. There were only the humans and the neosapient Elws who could have created such a thing that would last so long."

"That is not entirely true, sir." Ravendor protested calmly.

"Indeed? Then what do you think it could have been, lad?" Berlitz asked curiously.

"The demons could have made it too, sir. During the Great War."

Yes, well, that was also another possibility, Berlitz thought.

Nearby, Horatio and Andrew shuddered, experiencing a sudden cold chill.

xxx

When Clive came to again, he snapped to attention so suddenly that he sat up at once and grazed his nose and forehead on the inner surface of the saddlebag, the force of the impact causing him to yelp a little in pain and immediately lie back down again, rubbing at his nose and wondering what went wrong. He had been listening to the muffled illegible voices for a while, then he must have gotten bored with it and had nodded back off to sleep. But wherever he was now, the bag was no longer moving and so was he, and from the bottom of the bag he could feel the hard flatness of the ground, meaning that somebody had untied his carrying vessel and had left it lying on the ground. Was it really safe to come out yet, and where was he anyway?

He yanked and pulled at the knots he had made until they came undone, feeling lucky that nobody had checked his saddlebag while he had been sleeping. He lifted the flap only slightly, enough to get a very restricted view outside. He could see one of the horses grazing not too far away, tethered by the reins to an overshadowing tree. He was on the ground next to the rest of the luggage, and out of the very corner of his eye, he could see the outline of some kind of building a short distance away. It looked to be made of sandstone, and was rather old. Clive didn't hear or see anything more than this, so putting himself into fate's hands, he pushed the flap fully open and breathed inthe fresh air of success, a cool breeze ruffling his dark green hair.

There was indeed nobody else around. Clive felt privileged to experience this moment of triumph without any annoying hindrances. He was also supremely grateful when he stood up and stretched all the cramps out of his body that had built up from his time in the bag, especially in his legs and one numb shoulder. He'd wind up with pins and needles in it at any second now, he thought with a small grin. Clive yawned loudly and for a long time, enjoying the wide open spaces once more. He wandered around a little bit to get the blood circulating back into his legs, and patted the horses fondly for a while, looking at the ruin with a mixture of both anxiety and excitement.

Although large in comparison to Clive's own small body, the ruin was more like a large stairwell leading down into the ground, surroundedat nearly all sides by a big wall of stone. It reminded Clive a little of the underground train station they had at Westwood, and he wondered what it must be like in there, beneath the earth. Had Berlitz and the others already gone down there? Maybe he should follow them now? If he was going to prove to them exactly what he was, then he had better stop procrastinating and get going. One of the most cowardly things Clive could do at that point would be to get scared and run back home, and he honestly admitted to himself that for the briefest fraction of a second, that was what he wanted to do. It was all just so intimidating.But no, he had gotten this far, he wasn't going to stop now.

The steps were grainy and sandy coloured, brittle enough that if he were wearing sturdier shoes, he could have been able to erode away the surface of the steps by roughly scuffing his feet against the stone. The air down below felt colder and heavier than normal, and the little boy had to hop down each stair one at a time, because they were a bit too big for him to handle normally. Clive could see something that looked like glass at the bottom of the staircase, coloured a deep blue, but he was still too far away to be properly certain yet. It was also aweird factthat as he got further down, the darkness didn't seem to diminish his vision, in fact, it was not even getting any darker at all. Maybe the others had already set up some torches underground, Clive thought.

It took Clive a while to reach the bottom, his pace slow and meticulous. The staircase was easily a hundred and fiftymeters long and difficult to fathom, but when Clive overcame the final step and had reached the foot of the ruin, he let out a deep breath and felt proud of himself, sitting down on the step he had behind him. He heard an odd clinking sound when he feet touched the floor, the slight metal casing on the toe and heel of his new boots rapping against the floor. It didn't sound like he was on stone anymore. Clive looked down and ran the back of his hand against the floor, then rapped it with his knuckles. "Whoa…" He breathed, impressed.

The steps, and the walls around it had been made of brittle sandstone, hardly the perfect type of material to build a ruin that would last the tests of time. Given another millennia, the entrance would easily crumble away to dust. The inside, however, were made of one of the hardest and sturdiest materials around, glossy blue crystal that had been volcanically made in the past, large enough to carve an entire ruin out of one huge sample. The walls, the floor, and now the ceiling was made of the stuff, and the light streaming through the entrance and bouncing off the floor, into the ruins, was like an automatic light source, keeping the ancient place lit with a dim glow. Clive wasn't sure, but he also thought that the crystals themselves were generating their own blue glow, just too faint to be seen. Clive's mouth was hanging open with amazement. "Whoa…" He said again, repeating himself.

__

Oh wow… Oh, WOW! This entire place is a treasure! Look at it, it's all made of magic crystal! Holy cow! I mean, wow!

The others must be further inside. I wonder if they think this is cool too? Um… I had better go find them and help. I bet the old geezer had a heart attack when he saw this! Mongo and Swanky'd try to take a wall home as a going away present too. Hee hee…

Clive wandered deeper inside, looking around all the while. He could catch the fuzzy and blurred mirror image of himself in the walls as he walked, and took delight in starting and stopping his pace at erratic intervals, watching his other self do the very same thing. He waved his arms around and the other one copied him. He jumped up and down and the other Clive followed suit. Clive giggled at this and kept on going, feeling a little less alone now that he had his mirror friend to keep him company.

He feet kept on echoing every time he tried to take a step, and he couldn't really help something like that unless he took his boots off, but the floor looked cold and he had paid a lot of gella to have something respectable to wear on his feet. It had been Manna's idea, true, but it had been _his_ money, and he didn't want to lose such an investment so early in the game. Still, with all the noise he was making, he would give his position away. And that would suck, because he wanted his arrival to be a surprise. Clive stopped suddenly, his mirror friend stopping too. He had just had a very simplistic idea. Kneeling, Clive took his shoes off and slung the pair over his shoulder, holding onto them by the laces. Standing up, Clive felt that he was right, the floor _was_ as cold as he had expected, making his toes curlup and shiver.

The tunnel Clive was in turned sharply to the right and the little boy refrained from following it anymore, hanging near the bend and out of sight to anyone on the other side of the curve. He could hear voices down the corridor, more specifically, the voices of children. Clive peeked around the corner for a few quick seconds, seeing that the other half of the equipment that had not been left outside was now set up in there, lamps and a small foldable table with many sheets of paper upon it, covered in writing. The lamps distorted the shadows of Andrew and Ravendor who were the only ones there, the other two adults must have gone even deeper into the ruins.

Andrew was setting up the remainder of the equipment almost mechanically, like he was trying to remember instructions that had been given to him earlier before. Ravendor was sitting on a foldable chair and was taking down some notes on what he had seen already regarding the ruins, and any other tidbits of information that he could think of. He had also, sneakily as it were, managed to duck out of any difficult physical labor that had presented itself to him. However, it looked like both of them were working very hard. Clive leant against his end of the tunnel, the cold crystal wall of the ruin spreading an icy chill through his back. The little boy sighed. "Gee… Maybe they don't need my help after all…" He murmured, wavering a little. Then, simple childlike logic took over.

__

I don't care! I'm the boss, I'm 'sposed to help anyway! _There's no way they can leave me outta their fun, it's not fair!_

Clive hastily crammed his shoes back onto his feet then jumped around the corner and into the full-view of the other two boys, putting his slight form between two different burning lanterns. He raised his arms up high and yelled; "HEY GUYS, I'M HERE!" While waving profusely, an eager grin on his face. Now, what Clive didn't know was that in the particular position he was in, between the two flames, hugely augmented his shadow and cast it over his own body, cloaking it like it wasn't even there at all. To a casual onlooker, Clive would have appeared about a hundred times scarier than what he already was, a big black shadow with no source.

Andrew looked up and panicked, dropping the unusual tool that he was holding, whereupon it broke in two on the hard crystal floor. The large boy's fingers were as stiff as sticks, but trembled like they were moving in anuneven breeze. Andrew's lightly tanned skin turned as white as a bed sheet and his eyes had widened into saucers,staring at Clive as if he was from another world. Clive cocked his head to one side and looked confused. "Hey Mongo, what's wrong?" He said, very puzzled.

The boy screamed and ran away, all the way down the unexplored corridor. Ravendor glanced up from his writing just in time to watch Andrew's rushed departure, glancing over his shoulder as the bigger boy disappeared into the deepening darkness. It was light inside the corridor, true, but simple human perception made it get darker and blurrier, further and further the pathway went. "Mongo! Where are you-" He began, then looked back at whatever had frightened the boy so badly, one eyebrow raised.

"Geez, what's up with him?" Clive asked as he stepped away from the flame's light, making his shadow shrink as he got closer to his older brother. He rubbed that back of his neck and smiled. "Hi Swanky. Found any treasure yet? Isn't this place great? Everything's made of shiny crystal!"

"You…" The dark-haired boy began.

"Yeah, it's me. Didn't expect to see me, right? But here I am, an' I'm raring to go find us some treasure!" Clive grinned.

"You…" Ravendor repeated.

"Ya don't have to say anythin'. I know you're glad to see-"

"You _idiot!_ Oh Gods Clive, _please_ tell me that you're not here right now…" Ravendor said half despairingly, closing his notebook and leaving it on the chair. He removed his glasses and glared at Clive with subdued anger. "Professor Berlitz was right, this place is _far_ too dangerous for you to be here, and look what you've already done! You scared Mongo away!" He sighed. "It's not like we're playing around or anything, you know. We _are_ working here…" Clive suddenly felt a little awkward, having the smallest feeling that Ravendor was indeed correct. The older boy didn't stop there, he continued his tirade. "I don't know how you got here, actually, you can tell me later, but right now we gotta go and find Mongo before he hurts himself, alright? I'll yell at you later."

"…Okay…" Clive murmured. "But how come I scared Mongo so badly? He usually don't get scared fer nothin'."

"Clive, take three steps backwards, turn around and look at your shadow." Ravendor instructed exasperatedly, folding his arms.

He did so without really thinking about it, stepping backwards without hesitation. So this was the Looking Glass, a ruin made of crystal that reflected one's own image. How come Berlitz and Horatio weren't around with his other two friends, and why did Ravendor seem so grumpy in such a place? Clive understood the other boy well and knew that he only got this upset early in the mornings or when he had a really, _really_ bad headache. Come to think of it, Ravendor did look a little more pale and disgruntled than usual, and there was an odd little buzzing in the back of Clive's head when he took note of that, so deep down that he barely even knew it was there. What on Filgaia did that mean, and what made the crystal glow? Why? Clive just had to know.

But for now, he turned around and saw his own deep black shadow, then he screamed, lost his colour, and fainted dead away.


	5. Through The Looking Glass

Clive's unconscious body was lying peacefully on the ground, resting supinely without any danger. The poor boy had been scared so much by his own shadow that he had forced himself into an unwilling slumber, now dead to the world. Clive had glanced into the Looking Glass and found nothing but fear. He was lifted up from his spot on the ground and was gently shaken awake. Groaning once, he opened his eyes and blinked them wearily. He did not remember fainting at all, just that his older brother had pointed something out to him and then he saw deep blackness. The faint buzzing at the back of his head had risen a notch or two in pitch, almost painful, but just not quite. It was almost like very quiet static in his head.

"My head hurts." He said weakly, pushing himself up into a sitting position and then rubbing his eyes a little. Clive sighed and ran one hand through his longish hair, his head feeling heavier than usual. Something about the Looking Glass was causing him pain, very deeply inside his own mind. He thought it might have been the faintly pulsing stones, or him being underground for so long, or maybe it was just a coincidence. Clive looked up at Ravendor leaning over him and smiled forcedly, his blue eyes unfocussed. "I mean, it's like…"

"It is like a hundred different people are talking to you all at once, while at the same time, something poisonous is eating away at the back of your mind." Ravendor replied, leaning backwards and sitting down. "I have that right now. My head is killing me too."

"Well, it ain't _that_ bad…" Clive said with a little laugh, scratching the back of his head, where the static seemed to be. He stood up, helping Ravendor up as well. "Is there something in this place that makes people sick?"

Ravendor dusted himself off, even though he was not dusty at all. "That is what I first thought." He told Clive carefully, looking down the corridor to where he thought Andrew had fled to. He gestured to Clive and the two of them started walking down that way, the younger boy keeping one hand on the blue crystal wall. "Except that Andrew and Horatio felt fine even while we were in here and working. Berlitz did seem to experience some mental discomfort, I could read it on his face, but that could have come from plenty of other reasons. He _is_ an old man, after all. I've been guessing about what it might be, I even took down some notes. I'm not sure, though. Oh, and look at this…"

The dark-haired boy removed something small and circular from one of his pockets, resembling a pocket watch, but it was not hanging on a chain. It also only had one hand, and it was moving too quickly for it to a clock at all. It was actually a small hand-held compass, and the little red arrow that dictated the direct location of North was spinning about crazily, like it couldn't decide which way was which. "This little device here tells you where you are supposed to go. But look, it stopped working the moment I stepped into this ruin." Ravendor continued, looking at it with distrust.

"Does that mean that this here place is stopping things from workin' properly?" Clive asked as he kept in step, his eyes widening just a little. Ravendor nodded and Clive just looked impressed. They came to a crossroads and took the left-hand path, guessing that Andrew had run down there. If not, they could always backtrack and try out the other way later on. His hands in his pockets, Clive could feel the pulsing, near-invisible light of the crystal wall and had a very unsettling thought. "It stops things from working properly… like… like… like our own heads?"

"Could be. I'm not a scientist, I have no idea. But look at it this way. The compass works fine outside, it does not work fine inside. Our minds work fine outside, they hurt real bad inside. But some of us feel it and some of us don't. Why?"

"Because…" Clive said, coming to an understanding. "Because some of us are compasses and some of us aren't."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno."

"Then you are not as smart as you think you are, Clive." Ravendor concluded, satisfied.

"So are you!" Clive retaliated loudly, turning to the other boy. Ravendor just nodded, agreeing with him with a smug smile. The green-haired boy decided to give up on this train of thought and ask a different question, knowing that he would be led around in circles if he didn't. "… Where's the old man and that other guy?" Clive questioned Ravendor meekly, as they turned around another corner.

"Honestly, I would not have a clue." Came the answer, almost airily. Ravendor stopped walking, raised both his hands and accentuated his next statement with the middle and index fingers on both of his hands. "They mentioned something about 'Matters of deep importance' somewhere in the ruin, and they banded together and told us kids to stay near the entrance. I am beginning to believe that we were brought here for no more reason than to simply humor us. I nearly feel cheated from it. But still, as long as I get paid I suppose I do not care. Speaking of that," Ravendor fixed his eye on his younger brother and smirked, "What are you going to tell Professor Berlitz once he finds out that you disobeyed him?"

"Him? He can go and fuck himself." Clive said automatically, still hurt from Berlitz's apparent coldness. He still was a little upset that he had been left behind. The anger was subsiding, at least a little bit as time went by, but that still didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"Dear me, where do you pick up those words?"

"You said the same thing last week."

"Yes, but I thought nobody was listening."

Both of them chuckled and continued on.

xxx

They found Andrew not long after, lost in the veritable maze of crystal networking. The poor boy had honestly thought that there was a giant in the ruin, and he had been in hiding. Of course, the only real giant there was Andrew himself, but the young lad was near panicking instead, and it took almost fifteen minutes to make him calm again. Ravendor had to explain exactly how shadows worked to him and what had made Clive's shadow grow, although his explanation was more along the lines of forty percent accurate information and sixty percent nonsense mixed with fantasy. Ravendor tended to make things up whenever he couldn't find out an answer for himself. As long as Andrew knew that there was no such thing as giants, then he would be fine.

In any case, they were all together now, despite being deeply embedded into the underground ruins. Without a working compass, they had forgotten which way North was, or even which way was the correct one to go back to the entrance. They were in a large corridor, it seemed to be a main one, but to Clive, who was trying to remember the way back, it just did not seem right.

The three of them were following the main corridor, the resounding clack of their shoes echoing off the crystalline blue walls. Clive figured that if they wanted to get back to Berlitz and Horatio as quickly as possible, then they should retrace their steps and go back the way they had came. This hallway was definitely close to where the excavation was and they had been here before, at least he _hoped_ so, but because of their fouled-up sense of direction and the fact that Ravendor's compass no longer worked within those walls, they were walking down the _opposite_ end of the hallway, heading deeper into the ruins.

Clive and Ravendor were walking side by side with Andrew just a step behind them, covering their backs. Faintly, as they kept on moving, they could begin to hear the quiet dripping of distant water, somewhere behind or beneath the crystal and glass. The air was cooling down too, it had been nice and warm at the entrance, but now it had dropped to the same temperature as it would be in the evening, although it was far too early in the day for something like that to happen. Clive stopped, sniffing the air. "We're lost." He said, turning and looking around Andrew's hulking form. "This ain't the right way to go."

"Don't be silly." Ravendor replied, having put on his glasses so he could properly read the spinning compass in his hand. Its little red point was rotating like crazy, unable to make up its mind. Clive looked back at the dark-haired boy. Ravendor's expression was serious, and in the dim light of the ruin and with his reading glasses on, he looked like a thin and pale little owl. "I know where we are." He continued, beginning to walk away again. "I have instincts, you know, and they tell me to keep on going."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you dun' wanna be proven wrong…" Clive retorted with a sigh and followed him, knowing in his gut that they were not going the correct way. Andrew was just tagging along like a dumb animal now, a goofy grin on his face. He didn't seem to want to argue at all, content at being led. Ravendor let out a short clipped laugh at Clive's statement, putting his useless compass away and cramming his hands in both his pockets, like he was completely in control. The younger green-haired boy walked more slowly than the other two and glimpsed around his immediate environment carefully, wondering where they were heading to.

The others were just walking straight ahead, not paying any attention to the world around them. If they had, as Clive was just beginning to, they would have seen a few branching corridors appearing down the sides of the great long hall, some of them ending at blue crystal doors, complete with an intricate decorative design. Most of the remaining routes were more lengthy hallways, creeping away into the darkness. Why were they taking the main pathway, the wrong pathway, when the entire point of them being there was to find treasure?

In Clive's mind, thinking that seemed to put his thoughts into a much better perspective than before. He stopped walking, regarding one particular doorway with a hushed awe. For all he knew, there could be a cadre of treasure chests on the other side, just waiting to be opened. They could be filled to the brim with gold and jewels, enough gella to keep him happy for the rest of his entire life. He was just supposed to walk past something like that? No, Clive may have been young and stupid, but he wasn't _that_ stupid, not at all. Andrew and Ravendor were still walking ahead without realizing that Clive was no longer following them, quietly discussing something that Clive was too far away to hear. Just standing there, feeling an odd tugging feeling in his gut as he watched them go away, Clive looked back at the doorway again and felt it reinforce his frame of mind. "I'm the boss, an' I'm going in." He said, doing so.

He had to stand on tip-toes a little to reach the blue crystal ring used to pull the door open, and when his tiny hands found their mark, the ring was heavy and stiff, he could barely lift it up enough to have the hand space in order to pull it towards him. Clive tried as best as he could to lift it and then threw all his weight into pulling it towards him, digging his sliding heels against the polished and perfected crystal floor. He only held firm for about five seconds before friction failed him and he slipped onto his behind, grunting a little at the painful impact. Clive's hands touched the floor. It just held no traction, with no traction could he muster up the force needed to open the door. Of course, he did not think in such complex terms, but his young little mind came to similar conclusions as he crawled back onto his feet and said a word that a little six year old should never say.

Wiping the dust from his grubby face, Clive glared at the door way and then back down the hallway that the others had gone through. He could no longer see them. That was fine, if they found treasure then they deserved that treasure, but if Clive found treasure here, than it was completely out of his own noble efforts. No one else would be able to take credit. _What I gotta do is find somethin' that'll open the door for me, or make me stronger for it. Let me see… What will pull something heavy away?_

Clive briefly thought of the well in their hideout's courtyard, which would pull up a full and heavy bucket of water faithfully in all seasons(Although it did tend to get brown and murky during summertime) without rest. Usually only Andrew would be able to lift up a filled bucket with both hands, and even then it was a little draining for him, but with that rope and wheel doohickey even Ravendor or Manna could crank up enough water every morning to service them without breaking a sweat. What exactly did that, made them stronger? The rope? The wheel? Were they magic?

__

It's not a matter of them bein' stronger, His own inner voice told him, _It's a matter of the force of the rope makin' the bucket seem lighter. It's like vanishing weight at a magic show, it is. Jus' like that._

The boy had been carrying with him a lightweight rope wrapped around his tiny little belt, thinking that they might need it if somebody fell down a hole, despite knowing that the old man would probably bring with him enough rope anyway. Clive liked to be prepared, it kept his mind at ease. Now it would come in handy. He unraveled the badly-made cheap roll of cord and stood on tip toes again, looping the rope once through the inner hole of the door's pull ring. It was hanging limply now, like a dead snake being supported by its middle. Clive took both ends of the rope snake, turned around and held both his hands near the right hand side of his collarbone, the rope pressing into his right shoulder. Okay, so his shoulder would be the wheel, the rope would do the pulling, and Clive's feet would work as the crank. "Hope this works." He said to himself. Enough thought had gone into it, so he had better get something out of it, he reckoned.

If Clive had had both the literacy or inclination to read the bible, he might have been reminded of the slaves in the Book of Moses who were forced to pull the giant stone blocks in order to make giant pyramids, complete backbreaking pulling labor. The little boy grunted and heaved as he slowly began to walk away from the door, putting as much pressure on the balls of his feet to keep on moving, the rope attached to the door biting down into his shoulder. His hands were clenched around the rope tightly, almost painfully. At first, there was no difference he could sense apart from himself acting like a total idiot, but then he heard a faint squeaking and scraping noise, high pitched and terrible, like nails on a blackboard.

__

It's working! It's working! Keep it up!

The sound was easy enough to ignore, it was practically drowned out anyway by the rushing thud of the blood near his eardrums, the extra strain making it louder and more pronounced that ever. The edge of the door was making a white scratch mark on the floor when it was pulled open about a foot, and by then Clive's hands and brow were sweating from the work, but he still didn't stop. He wanted to see how much more he could get it open before he couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to test the limits of his hastily put together rope wheel and crank technique.

When he got the door about three feet open, the slight difference in the level of the crystal floor changed and the was no more opposing force left between the bottom of the door and the floor. The result, force and resistance became grossly unequal and the door was flung fully open, taking Clive with it, the boy slamming into the wall harder than he deemed quite necessary. His chest took up most of the pressure and he avoided bloodying his nose, but all the breath was knocked out of his lungs with a childlike grunt and he then sat there in a slightly sprawled position, a little dazed. The rope somehow hadn't broken, but that side of the door was pushed up again the wall now, and he'd have to pull it back to where it was to retrieve it, an impossible task seeing that both the door pull ring and the rope were out of his reach. Whoever had lived there must have been very big. And strong.

Clive suddenly felt a little afraid.

__

That shadow we saw earlier it wasn't an illusion it was a giant a big giant a big one with teeth and bloody breath he'll grind my bones to make his bread just like in the story big brother told me oh god oh god oh god I wanna go back home-

Although his mind and heart were racing each other hysterically, the words that the little boy spoke during those jumbled thought was a lot more composed and logical. "Jack went up the beanstalk to find him some purdy treasure. There ain't never was gonna be no treasure unless the giant hoarded it up. So treasure'll only be where the giant was. I'll never find my treasure hidin' and being spooked by big giant doors all day. C'mon Missanga, let's go." He obeyed his own orders and shuffled back onto his feet, rubbing at his right shoulder. He had a little feeling that there'd be a red mark on it by the time he went home.

"Swanks and Mongo are prolly goin' round and round in great big circles right now." He told himself and he walked up to the long edge of the door, placing one hand on it's cold blue surface. Most doors he had seen were made of hard and rough wood, but this was smooth and opaque crystal, with only a very, very slight translucent quality to it. Its thickness was equal to the length of Clive's index finger when he touched it. He smiled at an amusing thought. "Swanky won't admit he's wrong 'til the cows come home, or 'til they get scared an' run around like chickens with their heads cut off back to the pigeon man. Maybe they found monsters. Maybe they found treasure. Ah, who knows?"

He did _indeed_ look a bit like little Jack when he infiltrated the giant's lair, leaning around the edge of the door and peering into the next room within. He was dwarfed by the size of the door, and the room behind it lived up to the door's expectations perfectly. The room was practically empty, but boy, it was _big_. He reckoned they could have fit an entire standard-sized house inside the room, which wasn't too mind boggling by itself, but the ceiling was nearly non-existent, he definitely couldn't _see_ it, it was too far away. The room was like a perfect box, a rectangular empty box with an odd carving on one of the walls and a statue in one of the corners. That was all. No treasure chests, just an empty room.

Oh yes, and a spiked pillbug near the entrance, hissing at the door, and therefore, at Clive.

It was probably one of the weakest creatures available on the world of Filgaia, and a moderately advanced drifter, hell, even a beginner greenhorn drifter would never have been afraid of something so measly and laughable. But those drifters weren't six years old and already a little afraid of the giants that weren't there in the hallways, which made the pillbug a formidable opponent and enemy. It was a scuttling creature at heart, with many pointed quills and spines all over its scaly body. It didn't have a properly defined head, but at the front of it's body somewhere were it's eyes, beady and black and calculating. It began to move towards Clive, hissing and spitting and rattling its dried out body.

Clive swallowed a scream, all the muscles in his body going tense. The pillbug spat something out of it's mouth which broke upon the floor, making a gooey stain. The mandibles of the monster were small, but still scary. The little boy pried himself off the edge of the door and stood his ground, balling both his hands into tiny fists. It was spiky, and a weapon like his switchblade wouldn't be able to pierce the tough hide of that giant insect, let alone get past its ugly spikes. Still, it was advancing for him on prickly legs, it's mouth snapping open and closed quite hungrily. Clive did the only thing that he could think of. When it reached him, he jerked one leg out and punted the creature across the room, crying out at the same time. He was immensely thankful that he had gotten himself some new shoes, or else his foot would have been nothing more than a painful pincushion, spiked to perfection.

Screeching, the pillbug landed on its back a short distance away and struggled like an overturned tortoise to right itself again, legs waving wildly in the air. It was hissing like mad now, furious. Clive looked down, a small quill had broken off and was lodged in the toe of his shoe. He had little feet, and it had missed spearing his toes by only a centimeter or so. Without taking the time to pull it out, Clive grabbed onto the edge of the door and tried to pull it closed again, a truly impossible venture. He cursed in his mind when he made absolutely no real progress, seeing out of the corner of his eye that the pillbug had gotten onto its feet again and was getting ready for round two. Clear blood or maybe remnants of its last meal were dripping from its mandibles like drool, the hissing finally reaching a peak of frenzy. Giving up on getting the door closed, Clive just decided to run away.

Something darted by at high speeds near Clive's side and the pillbug howled out in shrieking pain, finally getting the idea and running past Clive, getting away from the boy and from that room. It had a piece of metal sticking out of one beady little eye, causing it to ooze even more runny blood. Only one hit was enough to scare it away. Clive sighed, relived. But who had-

The little green-haired boy was dealt a sharp smack to the back of the head, not enough to really hurt but enough to make it sting and get his immediate attention. Ravendor grabbed him and spun him around suddenly, grabbing onto the boy's shoulders. "God dammit! Don't ever go anywhere in this ruin unless I'm with you, alright?! There are monsters! You could have been _killed_, Clive!" He yelled at him worriedly, though at the same time relieved. When Andrew had mentioned that Clive was no longer with them, Ravendor had feared that the boy might have fallen down a hole or something similarly bad. He and Andrew had doubled back when they had heard the scraping horrible sounds of the door being yanked open, mistaking it for something bad, but now he had thanked God that Clive was just being his usual nosy self.

"'Was just lookin' for treasure." Clive answered sulkily. "'Was just doin' my job. 'Sides, it was only a pillbug, and I found this room all by myself, see?" He gestured to the room with the flick of a hand, pulling himself away from Ravendor's grasp. "I opened the big doors too, aren't y'all proud 'o me? I reckon there might be treasure in this here place, even if we can't see it right now. _That's_ why I wandered off, okay?"

Ravendor lowered his hands. "That is besides the point…" He mumbled, giving up. He had wasted a perfectly good shuriken arrowhead dart on a measly pillbug, and those things weren't cheap to replace either. Ravendor considered himself lucky that he had taken his reading glasses off, or he wouldn't have been able to throw straight enough to hit the monster. There had actually been more of a chance that he could have hit Clive by mistake. In any case, that part was over now, and he admitted to himself that yes, he _had_ gotten them all lost, but he wouldn't in a million years tell that to the other two boys in his party.

"Hey look, somebody left their rope here, and it looks just like Missanga's!" Andrew exclaimed to the other two as he approached, Clive's rope in his hands. The strong boy had shifted the door enough by himself to remove the piece of cheap rope. He was holding it in his arms like it was a deceased animal, grinning at the same time.

The three boys all entered the room now, curious to as what was inside. Clive had already gotten them there, so they may as well take the time to make a thorough search for any hidden treasure. The pillbug had left a small tricking smear of its blood on the floor when it had run away, but there was also another tiny puddle of clear liquid a small way away from that, next to a bushy and shrubby thing, out of place in the cold and angular room. There were flakes of white stuff in the clear ooze. Andrew knelt in front of it and turned the bushy thing over. "It's a bird's nest." He said to the others, putting the nest down. There were two broken eggs inside, and the third one was splattered on the ground, accounting for the liquid smear. The pillbug must have been eating the eggs before Clive had barged in.

Clive and Ravendor crouched down on opposite sides of the large boy. Clive ran his index finger through the runny egg yolk and then tasted it on his finger, looking thoughtful. Ravendor pulled a face. "That's gross, Clive." He said distastefully.

The little boy paused for a few seconds to process the taste, then he contorted his features and stuck his tongue out in disgust. "Yeah, tastes like rotten eggs alright." He agreed, shaking his head a little, as if he could dislodge the bad taste that way. The nest was of that of a flight-capable bird, so Clive looked up to see if there was a ledge that it could have fallen from, seeing only blackness. The ledge must have been beyond his line of vision and it was almost a miracle that the eggs inside had remained intact after it had fallen and before the pillbug had came.

Not too far away from that Ravendor found a bird skeleton. Its bones had been picked clean by a scavenger, most likely that same pillbug again, but the way the bones were so white and pure suggested that it had died quite recently. There were a few discarded black feathers scattered around the corpse, and Ravendor warily nudged it with a boot. "This must have been the baby bird's mother." He observed quietly, continuing to nudge it very disrespectfully. "I guess she never got a chance to see her babies."

"Hold on, look at this!" Andrew called, waving them back towards the birds nest. He hadn't seen it under the downy feathers that had been woven into the nest to keep it insulated, but there was still one egg inside the nest, caught and held by two out-of-place twigs. The twigs must have acted like a restraint when the nest had fallen, and the feathers had kept it hidden from the murdering pillbug. Andrew snapped the twigs and removed the egg. It was still slightly warm, and intact. He showed it to the other two. "Our first treasure for the day?" He asked.

It would have been beyond cruel to leave a little egg all alone to rot in a scary ruin near the dead body of its mother, so Ravendor took it from Andrew and wrapped it up in his spare handkerchief, then stowed it away in the space in his medical bag where he kept the cotton balls and bandages. It would be safe and protected in there. They might be able to eat it or something once they got back home. Clive scratched his head in a vaguely absent-minded fashion. All they had found was dead things and a tiny little egg. Berlitz wouldn't have any interest in that, would he? "Not really, Mongo." Clive answered, looking at something a little out of the ordinary on the wall that had caught his eye. "But we're gettin' there."

It had only been a slight difference in the glimmer on the wall that had attracted him, but now that he focussed upon it and noticed, he couldn't possibly ignore it. Part of the crystal wall near the middle of the room was thicker than the rest of it, and curved upwards to make an old-fashioned bell shape, the edges decorated with an ice-crystal lacing frill. The flat bell was about twice Clive's height, and in the center, was a piece of text that was written with a light gothic flair. Inside the writing the crystal was a little darker, and that was the thing that had caught Clive's attention the most. It was also a perfect mirror, a tiny double of Clive standing there and staring at him with wide blue eyes.

Clive waved his left hand. The Clive in the mirror copied him perfectly, except that he had waved his right hand instead. Clive crossed his eyes, then stuck out his tongue, then hopped from foot to foot for awhile, looking like a silly monkey while doing it. He had never really seen his reflection so clearly before, only in a grubby little pocket mirror that Manna had and in the reflections off a few puddles of water. "Swanky! Do I really _look_ like that?" He called across the room, gesturing to Ravendor until the older boy succumbed to Clive's wishes and walked over to him. He had a handful of dead bird bones in one hand.

"I see a little flea-bitten mongrel doing stupid things in front of a mirror." Ravendor said with a smile. "So yes, it is you." He opened the flap of his medicine bag and stuffed the bird bones carefully inside. Clive saw what Ravendor was doing and also noticed that the bird skeleton was no longer where it was supposed to be. He put two and two together and guessed that it was now inside Ravendor's carry bag. The dark-haired boy sighed at Clive's look. "I want to bury it outside, alright? I do not feel right leaving a corpse in here when it might attract monsters or get chewed up. This place is not a mausoleum."

Clive had no idea what a mausoleum was anyway. He did want to know what those words meant, however, but he didn't understand a lick of written english; he had never gone to school or been taught enough of it to know a single word besides his own name. Andrew was in the same position Clive was at, maybe even worse than that. He did tend to spell 'Andrew' with a H these days, Clive recalled. Mongo was much easier for him to spell. "Swanky, what do those words say?" He asked of his older brother, putting his little hand on his chin and furrowing his brow, as if he could discern the answer all by himself.

Ravendor stared at it for awhile. It was stanza with four lines, that he could already tell. The text was small, though deeply carved, thin enough so that he could barely wedge the nail of his index finger into the letter's carving. He took out his glasses again, but instead of putting them on, he held them out in front of his eyes at the correct length so that they would work properly. He didn't like to wear them, it felt like he had been struck with a handicap because of it. The inscription, it was a rhyming poem that didn't make much sense to him and he stumbled a little on some of the more unfamiliar words. When he thought he had figured out what it meant, he read it out loud before moving his hand away.

__

"I look into the mirror and what do I think I see?  
The face of an angel standing next to me.  
The face of an angel, come from above,  
You are my sweet angel, the one that I love."

Ravendor looked over the riddle once more, a little puzzled from the ancient inscription. Reaching out with a finger, he traced a few of the words in the first line of the text, it had been chiseled straight into the bluish glass wall perfectly, as neatly written as if they had been placed there by the flourish of a pen, straight and completely immaculate. "It looks like a poem, but why would they place a poem here for no real reason? I do not understand…" He admitted to the others, straightening. Clive and Andrew looked back at him with just as much perplexity. It might have had no purpose, or it could have meant something far more rewarding. Ravendor then had a thought. "…Have you ever read Alice in Wonderland?" He said suddenly, from out of the blue.

"You know that's a dumb question, Swanky." Clive answered with an ironic smile. "None 'o us can read, remember? Jus' you."

The older boy grinned and scratched the back of his neck lightly. "Oh yes, dear me, I seemed to have forgotten. Sorry." Not dropping the smile, he tapped the piece of glass with the writing on it with a nail, making a quiet ringing sound. It appeared to be as solid as a rock. "It's just… I can recall several times in that book all the puzzles that Alice was faced with, and it reminds me a little of this poem we have here. Maybe this is not a mere poem and it is a riddle instead, with a viable solution somewhere in this room, or in our minds? I heard that drifters had to solve riddles like these on their travels and-"

"You're thinkin' of crazy ol' Tom Gallagher at the Rusty Spur, Swanky." Clive replied knowingly, remembering the drunken old coot who didn't do much except drink like a fish and rave about the great adventures of his youth. The man was nuttier than a granola bar, but he did have a few really interesting things to say at times, as long as somebody worthwhile was listening. He was sometimes a source of entertainment on the more boring days of their lives, and kind of like a role model to them, albeit a stinky and beer swilling role model, no less.

"He did say something about riddle solving, as I recall. In fact, on that day he did not shut up about it." Ravendor agreed with a nod, looking back to the inscription. "So, what can we glean from the text? I will repeat myself." He put his glasses back on just long enough to re-read the riddle out loud, slowly so that the other two could memorize the contents. "It mentions a mirror." He said, patting the smooth piece of polished blue crystal, as if it had done something virtuous. "We look into the mirror, and what do we see?"

"This entire room's a mirror." Clive observed with his neck bent backwards, the boy looking at the dark ceiling, then down to the walls, and then the floor. They all reflected a dull image of his small form, though it was blurred and not as sharp as the other reflections of himself that he had seen near the entrance to the ruin. The pieces of tempered glass had not faced as much heat as its other counterparts, and therefore did not have so great a quality. But the big chunk of crystal in front of them, the one shaped like a filled-in arch or a bell and pierced with its mysterious text, that was the only one where Clive's reflection was the clearest, and the easiest to see. Clive pointed to it readily. "That's the mirror in the poem, I bet. That one right there."

"Very well." Ravendor said, "So this is the mirror, and we look into it. And we see…" All three of them did, focussing their attention on the glass in front of their faces. Andrew started to chuckle, for some reason he found his full-length reflection to be incredibly funny. They only saw each other, nothing more.

"I don't see no angels." Andrew said blandly, in a tone that irritated the other two boy's nerves.

"…It is not working." The dark-haired boy sighed, stating the obvious. He had _so_ expected that the words _meant_ something, but…

"Look at the floor." It was Clive's voice. The little boy was staring at his feet with a curious expression on his face. Andrew and Ravendor looked down as ordered, a new piece of the puzzle emerging. The small space of floor they were standing on was darker than the rest, the crystal was denser and did not reflect as much light, creating an inner permanent shadow. The shadow formed a box shape around the three children's feet, each side about two feet long. It was a little crooked, though, and one of the points faced the text, making it look like a symmetrical diamond. All three of them took note of this at the same time, and all three jumped out of the square like it was on fire, thinking it was some kind of a trap.

The dark diamond on the floor offered them no hostility, as they all soon found out through the passage of time. Clive was embarrassed for feeling fear for no real reason and blushed a little, his shame mixed with a little anger. Ravendor got to his knees and ran his finger around the diamond's outline while Andrew wandered away, chewing on his thumbnail again. "I just don't get this." Clive muttered as he scratched at a small scab on his elbow. "If there's treasure here why ain't there a treasure chest nearby? What's the point of confusing us like this?"

"If the ancients were so obvious as to where they hid their priceless artifacts, Clive, then any old person could just take a walk through this ruin and take whatever they wanted. If they wished for their treasures to last, then they had to hide them as carefully as possible." Ravendor answered, extending his hand towards Clive without turning his head to look at him. "Lend me your switchblade. I want to see if I can scratch this darker crystal with it." The small weapon was pressed into his palm and Ravendor extended the blade on the weapon tracing the diamond again about an inch within its boundaries, pressing it down with all the strength he had without compromising on the force of his hand when it moved.

The switchblade screeched as it was dragged across the floor, like a dying bird, completely unable to make the slightest mark on the dark blue surface. Clive was watching over Ravendor's shoulder as he did this, well aware that he had managed to make a goodly mark on the floor near the door after pulling it open, the lighter crystal more susceptible to a substance with a higher density. It was obvious now that the door had been made of the same darker crystal that this diamond was, or else it wouldn't have been able to scratch the floor at all. The boy smiled, although it wasn't the _real_ mystery solved, it was one small victory, at least. Ravendor retracted the blade and felt along the path he had made with his finger. He couldn't sense any imperfection from the futile scratching at all. He'd definitely have to tell this to Berlitz later.

"Hey guys!" It was Andrew's voice. "Get over here! I found the angel! Come look!"

He had been speaking the truth. The angel was in the corner of the room furthest from the bell mirror, all tucked away and practically hidden because she was made from the exact same material as the walls around her. Her face was to the wall, so only her pale blue wings and toga were visible to them. Andrew had discovered her when he had wandered over to one of the corners to rest and let the other two brothers figure things out for themselves, besides, he wasn't that smart anyway and Clive and Ravendor were the brains of the operation. He leant back and had ended up smacking his head against the rear end of the angel, making him see stars for a few seconds as payment for committing such a blasphemous act. Andrew had pulled it away from the wall after that for a better inspection, it was surprisingly light to move.

Andrew and Ravendor turned the statue around so it was facing the center of the room, grunting and swearing just a little bit. Sure, it was almost magically light for a something built out of solid crystal, but it was still heavy as hell for a pair of nine year olds to handle. Clive just watched them, looking at the angel as she was slowly revealed to him. Clive giggled, making such an innocent observation that only a child could do. "Her clothes are coming off." He said, pointing at the carved airy trimmings of her toga that revealed far too much skin. The angel had a beautiful face too, despite her expression and eyes being somewhat blank.

"Right. So we found the mirror, an' we found the angel. Now what? Didn't the poem say something about seein' her in the mirror?" Andrew thought out loud, having trouble putting two and two together. Realization suddenly dawned upon him. "Oh, I get it now! We… put her in front of the mirror, right?" He looked towards Ravendor as he said this, like a student telling a teacher the answer while hoping that it was the correct one.

The dark-haired boy dropped down and measured the statue's base by using his hands, roughly estimating its perimeter. It was about two feet long on each side, and the base was perfectly square-shaped. A match to the diamond near the mirror. Finally the puzzle was beginning to make sense! "We will have to move her across the room. This may take awhile…" He said a little reluctantly, trying to hide his eagerness to complete the riddle. Truth to tell, he was just as excited as Clive was to see if there was any treasure in this room.

Ravendor was more or less correct. The statue was a bitch to move across long distances such as the large crystal room, so they worked out a feasible method of pulling and stuck to it, committing themselves to the work. Andrew had wrapped the thin length of the rope he had found around the angel's back and held onto the ends himself, using a similar system to Clive's door method in order to pull the angel along. Ravendor was at the angel's back, between her wings and pushing from behind, also making sure that he kept their path straight and unhindered by any errors in Andrew's direction. Clive was watching them bemusedly, not helping them at all. He was their leader, and far too young to be of any real use. He clapped his hands together each time Ravendor pushed and Andrew pulled, crying out in a brief happy yell; "Heave!"

He had done this nine or ten times before the other two older boys had stopped pushing and pulling and were looking at him tiredly, unamused. They had already gotten nearly halfway across the room now and both their faces were red with exertion despite the coolness of the area. "We will 'heave' this over your foot if you do not be silent." Ravendor warned, summing up what he and Andrew wanted to say. "If you are not going to help then stop slave driving us like that."

"Sorry." Clive replied with an embarrassed grin. "I was just tryin' to help."

He still didn't consign himself over to menial labor, but now Clive was decidedly more quiet and allowed the other two to do their job undisturbed. He watched them haul the angel over towards the mirror and then they took a brief break after that, the base of the statue resting only a few inches away from where it was supposed to be. Clive passed Andrew and Ravendor his water bottle and they all had a deep drink from it, the water cool and refreshing to their tired little bodies. It was probably lunchtime on the outside and where the Professor and Horatio were, but the three boys hadn't brought any food with them and had to do without. Andrew's stomach began to growl like an angry dog and they all laughed.

"We look into the mirror an' what do we see? Time to see if we ain't wasted our time after all." Clive said a short while later as he looked upon the statue, rubbing his hands together eagerly. This time he _did_ help the other two with the pushing, because it was only one more big push to go, anyway. They all grabbed onto any part of the angel that they could reach and heaved as hard as they can, the quiet friction-filled sound ceasing when the statue was popped into place. There, it was done. Clive, Ravendor and Andrew cheered.

Nothing happened.

They waited for a whole minute before the joy of the success began to fade rapidly away. The angel was there, in front of the mirror with all three of them looking into it, just as the poem dictated, and yet nothing significantly important happened. Andrew coughed. "It's not working." He observed out loud, painfully obvious. He wrapped his arms around the statue and tried to adjust its position with the diamond mark on the floor, making sure they were perfectly aligned. It didn't need any adjustment because it was already fine, but Andrew continued to fiddle with it anyway.

"Oh, and we worked so hard…" Ravendor sighed disappointedly, standing behind the angel and on her pedestal with her, looking over the side. "I could have sworn that this would have yielded something interesting… Perhaps I am misreading the poem?"

Clive was suddenly jolted with an idea coupled with some kind of divine revelation. He didn't know where it had come from, but it had hit his little mind with the force of a bullet. He whirled around to face the other two, a shocked yet happy expression on his face. "Mongo! Swanky! I get it now! Look! Look into the mirror!" He pointed to the bell mirror with a shaking finger.

"I see us and the angel. That's all. So what?" Ravendor observed confusedly and a little fed up with this whole ruin exploration. He really should have just stayed at home, it would have been easier for him and for Berlitz, who wouldn't have to put up with dumb little kids like themselves anymore.

Clive shook his head knowingly, grinning in his trademark I-know-something-and-you-don't sort of way. "Yeah, there's me, there's you, and there's Andrew and the angel. But look at the angel! Look at her!" He jabbed his finger at the angel's reflection a few more times. "We look into the mirror and what do we see? The _face_ of an angel looking back at we! Her body is facing the mirror but her neck is tilted, see? She's not lookin' into it like we are!"

And he was, indeed, correct. The other two older boys had not seen it but Clive had, and it made him feel very proud inside. The statue's head was pointed to the right, looking away from what was directly ahead of her. Ravendor felt a little embarrassed that he had not been able to figure it out for himself, but nevertheless helped Andrew to turn the angel's body left at a right angle, so she'd be able to look into her own mirror and solve the puzzle. This time Clive helped as well, too busy being on a pride high to notice how the heavy weight of the statue was making his arms ache somewhat. It took them a few minutes to move her, but when they were done they all stood in front of her this time, looking into the mirror at their reflection and waiting to see what would happen next.

They heard a quiet noise that closely resembled the sound of a lock being unlocked. It was mechanical and out of place in such an ancient ruin, but it was heard anyway. It happen slowly and gradually, but some kind of change was happening to the blue crystal of the angel statue, staring from its base and working all the way up the angel's cold hard body. The deep blue crystal was losing its colour and density in tiny searching tendrils that crept up with a snake-like quality, turning what was deep crystal into pure, near transparent glass. The dark crystal danced inside the angel's body like it was a trail of ink weaving its way in a glass of cold water before the colour diffused and became nothing, the statue now delicate and fragile like a glass masterpiece.

The three boys were holding their breath when the base of the angel was clear enough to look inside. A faint golden light traced its way around the diamond of blue crystal planted into the floor, creating a small square. Another, more silvery light followed the base of the angel statue like a pen being guided by a ruler, making a sharp looking square of its own. Together, with the two lights combined and the general tilt of the statue's base in comparison to the blue diamond, the two squares connected as one and formed the shape of an eight pointed star.

And the angel opened her eyes.

The mirror shattered like it had been stuck with a hefty sledgehammer, instantly, not even giving itself enough time to develop any cracks before its time was up. It degraded into a hundred dangerous shards of thin crystalline glass and pattered down onto the floor with a cacophony of tinkling sound, almost musical but just not quite. Some shards bounced on the ground and came dangerously close to the three boys watching the destruction, and Ravendor pulled Clive out of the way so he wouldn't have a chance of being cut. Andrew had already moved to a safer distance away. The angel's eyes had been like the eyes of a gorgon, glowing with that eerie golden silvery light before they closed again and became as they were, cold and blank. The light faded and that was that.

"Whoa…" Said Clive with wide-eyed awe, shrugging Ravendor's hands off his shoulders. "Them ancients sure know how to put on a great show! Now lets look for our treasure!" Andrew and Ravendor just nodded silently in reply, agreeing.

Brushing aside all the fragments of glass that had fallen away from the broken mirror, being extra careful not to brush their unprotected fingers against the sharp and jagged sides, the three boys spied a small hollow behind the broken mirror that had been concealed by the glass, about the height and width of a shoebox with a much greater depth. Andrew was about to stick his large hands in, but Clive brushed him aside, taking out his switchblade and holding the point near the base of the small teeth-like edges of the opening. Wrapping one small hand around the lower handle of the blade, he let his other hand, palm open, hover above the knife, and then he brought it down hard on its cast iron butt, his palm smacking against his curled thumb and index finger and pushing down on the switchblade itself, using the weapon like a crude chisel.

"No sense in cuttin' our own fingers off, right Mongo?" Clive said as he slowly worked around the edges of the hidden opening, removing all the parts of the mirror that had refused to break away. The glass made a slightly musical sound when it cracked and fell into the pile gathering at the front of Clive's knees, and when his task was all done, Clive, having the smallest hands of them all, stuck them inside the opening to see what he'd find, hoping that it wouldn't be more broken glass. He smiled. "It looks like we've found a treasure hollow, you guys! I mean, why else would a hole be all hidden like this?"

"I do not think that the ancients would have made such an elaborate concealment just to store their worthless items." Ravendor replied, giving them his own opinion. "It must be treasure, a prize to whomever can solve the puzzle. So, what is it? Found anything yet?" Clive's questing fingers were meeting nothing but the cool smooth floor, and to reach his arm in further inside, Clive withdrew his other one and slid down onto his stomach, pushing his right arm further inside. The hollow was small, yet quite deep. If there really _was_ something inside, then it must be at the very back, he reckoned.

Clive let out a small yelp when his pinky finger grazed the edge of a broken piece of glass and gashed itself open a little, but he quickly shifted his focus to something else when the glass pushed away a little and he felt something with a different texture to the glass, slightly rougher and with more imperfection, but thin and angular, like a slab of something heavy. Ignoring the burn of the cut on his hand, Clive wriggled his fingers up enough to grab onto the odd item inside and drag it out, Andrew and Ravendor helping him back onto his knees again. Looking at his hand, Clive could see that an inch long red mark had risen along the edge of his smallest finger, and it was oozing droplets of red blood. There was a sliver of glass inside, pressing against his flesh and his skin, making it hurt. Badly. To a six year old, it could easily mean the end of the world. Clive's eyes watered up, and he started to cry.

He dropped the handful of whatever it was that he had been holding, and they all clattered to the floor, scattering like dropped playing cards. Hooking his fingers like he was waiting to catch something that would fall out the sky, the small amount of blood was tricking down his hand and wetting his wrist lightly, and the burning refused to stop. His long drawn-out cries became words eventually, as Andrew was gathering up the procured artifacts in his hands. "…B-big… Big Brother… it huuuuuurts…" Clive bawled, trying to dig the thin piece of glass out of his hand with his nail, wincing when all it did was cut his hand open further and push the glass deeper inside. "I'm gonna bleed to death!" He announced at last, looking with horror at the constant stream of his blood leaking away.

"Here, let me see." Ravendor said, taking Clive's injured hand and inspecting it. It was trembling under Clive's crying fit, but the older boy noticed the origin of the bleeding easily. He pulled the piece of glass out deftly and opened up the medical bag slung against his side, searching for a bandage. "Stop being such a baby, Clive. It is only a cut. I have some iodine based Acroflavin in here, somewhere. That should stop any infection." Pulling out a small roll of bandage, a flask and some cotton balls, Clive instinctively stiffened when he recognised the label on the bottle. It was the stingy burny stuff that he hated, the stuff that Manna and Ravendor forced him to use whenever he fell down or hurt himself in any way. He didn't stop whimpering and sniffling until the wound had been cleaned, disinfected and bandaged, and even then, his eyes were still a little bit blurry with tears. "Better?" Ravendor asked.

"Y-yeah…" Clive answered, looking at his bandaged hand. The wrapping had been wound up just enough to allow circulation, but it still felt a little too tight for his liking. Moreover, he could already see a slightly red stain appearing on the pristine fabric, marring its appearance. Holding it closer to his face, Clive sniffed it, and it smelt like icky disinfectant now, horrible and stingy. Letting out a sigh, he finally relaxed, aware that although he had been the one to warn the others about cut fingers, _he_ had been the one to feel the sting. It wasn't fair. "Thanks Swanky," He added, "It feels a lot better now."

Andrew reached out and picked up one of the fallen objects. It was surprisingly light, though it felt like it was made of stone, but its surface was clean and white, like ivory. "What the heck are these things?" He wondered aloud, as Clive was wiping at his eyes and Ravendor was packing their medical supplies away. It was small, thin and fit into the palm of his large hand easily, like a playing card of an unknown composition. Shrugging and raising the item to his mouth, he bit the corner of the card softly as if he was biting into a gold coin, to check if it was pure gold or not. It was like biting into a piece of metal, and when he let go, no teeth marks were left behind. It was like no kind of stone he had ever seen before. Giving up on figuring it out, he passed it to Ravendor, to see if the other boy could derive any kind of information from it.

It did indeed have writing on the front, along with a diagram that looked like it had come from an astrological textbook, written with calligraphic flair and style. There was a star, a moon, and a sun design, along with what looked to be a flash of lightning at the bottom. The rest, to the children, looked to be nothing more than gibberish. Ravendor turned it upside down, then on its side, then flipped it over to check the back. It was blank. "Gee… You expect me to know what this is? I have not a clue, I'm afraid." He admitted defeatedly, passing it over to Clive so he could take a look. "It must be an ancient language, because it certainly does not look like english, that I am sure of."

"Then it must be treasure!" Clive concluded at once, clutching the card like it was worth a million gella. "And it's just the kinda thing that the pigeon man's lookin' for! I wonder how much this thing is worth? D'ya think it's more than what we're bein' paid for being here?" Looking down upon it, Clive tried to picture himself as somebody who would really want these kind of things, and as that person, how much would _he_ pay for it? His mind drew a blank, unable to picture it properly. He then decided to just sweep that idea under the rug instead, picking up the other cards and putting them back into an odd little deck. "I wonder…" Clive murmured with awe, "Did the ancients like to play with cards? Is that where cards came from?"

"As I understand it, there are fifty two cards in a real life playing deck, but here, we have only nine cards. Maybe there are not like cards at all and are more like pictures, or pages of a book? Or the other cards themselves could have been lost?" Ravendor offered helpfully.

"But then why are they made of stone?" Andrew asked confusedly, blinking a little while his brain tried to work. "I guess… stone wouldn't rot away like cardboard does, but I still don't have a doggoned idea why these ancient guys would wanna make things like this, unless they _knew_ that we was gonna find 'em in the future? An' that must mean… they'se can see us." This was an unsettling thought, and then three boys looked at each other uneasily for a second, hoping that they were not being watched. "…Sanga?" Andrew whimpered, a tad scared, even with his great size and formidable power.

"U-um, well, let's not think about stuff like that…" Clive advised the others a little shakily and handed their small treasure to Ravendor, who tucked the cards safely away in his medical bag. They all got to their feet with caution. "If this place's as old as Mr. Pigeon and the other guy says it is, then they can't still be alive… can they?" Andrew and Ravendor shook their heads, convincing themselves that they were indeed alone. Clive looked down at his hand again, he could faintly smell his own drying blood. Clive had been told once, by an older kid who enjoyed weaving frightful tales by a burning fire, that back in the old days there had existed a secluded order of ancient magicians who drank human blood. _If_ there really was such a thing, and _if_ this was the place where they had lived, then there could be a chance, by some bizarre magic, that they could be alive and smelling his blood.

Ravendor had a similar thought, as he had heard the scary stories himself, being there with Clive at the time. This ruin had reminded him of the blood-drinking mages too, but his subconscious had managed to push that idea back into a hidden part of his mind. It was freed, now. He took a step closer towards Andrew, as if he had hoped that the larger boy would protect him from anything dangerous. "I think you may be jumping to conclusions, Mongo. Let's go and find Berlitz and Horatio now." He said with a slight quaver in his tone. "They must be looking for us. Um… which way was the exit?" Ravendor turned around, away from the broken mirror and the direction of the glass angel, and then he went as white as a ghost, freezing on the spot.

"What's wrong, Swanky?" Clive asked, noting the odd expression on the older boy's face.

"M-monsters…" Andrew stammered, answering before Ravendor could, seeing what the other boy was seeing and taking a shaky step back.

"Why… on Filgaia… wasn't anybody… watching the exit?" Ravendor said softly through a forced smile and clenched teeth. It looked like he had been frozen by some kind of spell, and when Clive followed his line of vision, he went similarly stiff as well, biting his lip hard.

Three large orcs were loitering around the exit, sniffing at the ground. The fat piggish beasts had probably followed them through the ruins via their scent trails left behind them, and it was probably true that Clive's recently spilt blood had been like a homing beacon to them, leading them to their quarry. What the hell? Didn't Berlitz say that there weren't any monsters here in the ruins? Clive guessed that the old man must have been wrong. One orc fixed its black beady eye on Andrew and its snout trembled a little as it snorted up the air, glistening with a thick layer of transparent mucous. It had tusks too, and they were yellowed and covered in rivulets of runny plaque. It squealed and raised itself onto its hind legs, the other two listening and doing the same.

Slowly, Clive's hand crept under his poncho and withdrew his small switchblade from its slotted position in his little belt. Pressing the button at the bottom, the blade popped out in his hand. It was cold steel and gleaming, a perfectly polished blade. It reminded Clive a little of the shards of glass on the floor. "Monsters…" Clive muttered, unconsciously reaching out and grabbing at Ravendor's shirtsleeve. "We gonna fight them?"

"Don't ask me, it is your call." Ravendor replied, still locked in a staring match between the middle orc and himself. "And… I do not wish to alarm you… but I did not bring Peacemaker with me today…"

"What?!" The boy nearly yelled, his heart dropping like a stone.

"Well, Berlitz _did_ say that there were no monsters here, despite what we see in front of us now, and besides, I did not want to risk losing an expensive piece of equipment like that. I was only thinking logically."

Clive let go of him and understood. They all thought that they wouldn't have to fight today, and Clive had been the only one who had come armed. Uninvited, but armed. It was just as well. He was their leader, it was _indeed_ his call. And they were just kids too, with no grown ups to help them out of a fix.

But since when had a grown up ever helped him out of a fix before?

__

The old pigeon man…That professor…Berlitz…

No, that did not count. "My call, huh?" Clive said with a calmness that came from absolutely nowhere. "Well, let's get ourselves some stuck pig, then!" He smiled, risking a glance at Andrew. The boy's hands were now in their large, sledgehammer-like fists. He could seriously hurt another child with those hands, but on monsters, he wasn't too sure. Ravendor was carefully and slowly searching his pockets for anything that could be used as a weapon, his other hand over the empty holster at his waist. Knowing Ravendor, he probably had a few tricks hidden up his sleeve, ARM or no ARM. And he, he had his switchblade.

The one thing in the world he knew he could trust.


	6. Meet Them Head On!

(A/N: Sweet merciful crap, this piece was supposed to be published in JANUARY, for christsakes! I'm really sorry for the absence of this fic, but putting so much stuff into one chapter can be torturously difficult and I've had a lot of things going on in my life right now. But still, I could never quit writing this. Anywho, enjoy what's here!)

Catherine didn't have any moral problems with disobeying her father right after he, the three boys, and the one drifter had left to head for the ancient crystal ruins in the north. She was really too young to have a properly developed conscience just yet, and with Manna egging her on to come and check out the Black Shuck hideout, it was easy to assume what path she was going to take. Luckily, the hideout was quite close by, as two little girls wandering the streets of Little Twister was a particularly prominent danger for them. You never knew who was going to follow you home.

Manna knew where she was going though, and for the most part, the south side of Little Twister was the safest place to be. There were lowlifes and bottom-feeders here, true, but they were the kind of scum that a person could almost, just maybe, possibly even get to know to like someday. They passed a few of these people in the street, looking greenishly drunk even though it was still technically the morning. Catherine watched these strange people pass with innocent, wide-eyed wonderment. She had never seen people of that like before, not ever.

Old Tom Gallagher was at his usual spot outside the Rusty Spur saloon, swaying in his rickety rocking chair with a bottle of something strong sitting protectively in his lap. It was the safest place in the world for his drink, for no one, _no one_, would dare to venture and retrieve it from him. The man was thin and somewhat withered by chronic drinking and life experience, and he had a beard that would have been as white as snow if it had been kept clean, but instead it was a dirty greenish-grey sort of colour. The old man opened one bloodshot eye and watched the two little girls go by, offering them a toothless grin. Old Tom may have been a stinky man, a ranting old coot, a miser and a crank, but he was still a good man, nevertheless.

Lucy tried to pounce Manna as soon as the Baskar girl had gotten into her sights, the large, almost giant animal lumbering up to the two and launching herself off her paws, barking out a happy greeting. She had been pacing outside of her headquarters, uneasy when Clive was not around. Manna let go of Catherine's hand and sidestepped Lucy's overzealous greeting, the big dog landing in a heap on the sidewalk. Catherine smiled widely in intense delight. "Doggie!" She exclaimed happily, crouching down as the animal rolled back over into a more comfortable position.

She and Lucy immediately became fast friends. Catherine turned out to be very much a dog person, she didn't even mind being licked and slobbered on by a being much larger than she. Lucy was an affectionate animal after all, she loved people whether they were strangers or not. At Catherine's age the back of the dog came all the way up to her shoulder, which made Lucy nearly horse-sized compared to her. They followed the dog back to Manna's home, having to stop and guide the animal whenever they passed an interesting-smelling garbage bin. Catherine patted Lucy's tangled shaggy neck. It felt coarse and rough to her fingers, but still warm. She decided that she really _did_ like dogs, and wondered if her daddy would buy one of these for her.

Passing through the alleyway they came to the courtyard of the dormitory, the cobbled stones warmed by the bright sunny day underneath their feet. Catherine looked around. It reminded her of a very small grown-up school, like the one her daddy had taught at, once. However the seeming students here were no older than she was, some appeared to be even younger. They were all dressed like vagrants, street urchins, but all of them were just playing around and having fun. The brown-haired girl couldn't count, but there weren't enough for it to be a lot of kids, yet there were enough of them for it to be a few. Most were little boys, with one or two girls hanging around to try and balance out the percent.

Manna seemed to read what Catherine was thinking about. "There ain't many girls heare because most bad daddies keep 'em under lock and key, even if they don't want them no more. Because theyse… girls, you know?" Catherine obviously didn't, from the blank look she was revealing to Manna's words. The Baskar girl continued. "An' if they don't end up heare, they get trained fer _other_ jobs in the future. You don't get what Ah'm sayin', do ya?" Catherine shook her head obediently. "Ah guess that's a good thing, then. You'se too young to know anyways." Manna smiled. "You wanna go play?"

"What kind of games do you play?" Catherine asked freely, looking around and noticing the hopscotch court. She could play that game very well, but also had a tendency for falling over at inopportune times. She didn't want to make a mistake like that in front of her new friend. Besides, there were kids over there already, playing with crudely fashioned wedges of chalk. It was destroying what was left of the hopscotch court.

Catherine felt a jab of homesickness for her home back in Humphrey's Peak, a deep cold quiver in the pit of her stomach that died only moments later. It was this new landscape that must have done it, she was sure of it. She didn't like it and was glad it had gone away. To spite that feeling, she marched up to the boys on the court and took a piece of chalk for herself, intent on drawing a great mural. Together, the kids drew a nice picture of Godzilla eating a pony farm.

Manna, adhering to her duty as to what Berlitz had said, happily joined in.

xxx

One thing was for sure, that as soon as Clive looked into the eyes of the three large orcs standing no more than fifteen paces away from him, he knew that they only had one definite thing on their minds. Food. They looked to be extremely hungry, if the heavy amounts of drool they were dripping onto the polished blue floor was any indication. There mustn't have been any real food in the ruins, because Clive knew that a sated animal could _never_ look like that. Taking a step away from their enemies, the little boy lost his nerve and hid behind Andrew and his bigger brother, raising his knife wielding hand to his mouth.

The middle orc trotted forward on its stubby little legs, grunting as it sweated over the boy's human smell. Likewise, the stink of such filthy animals reached the three little adventurers and made them feel mildly nauseous. Andrew held his nose. "Phew… those three pigs sure do stink!" He exclaimed, turning to Ravendor for advice. The dark-haired boy had a hand over his mouth, enough to show that he was disgusted with the creatures as well. Clive was hit by the smell too and likened it to giant ugly foot reek. How disgusting.

"Yes, three little pigs indeed." Ravendor agreed, his voice muffled by his hand. "So, which of us is going to be the Big Bad Wolf, hmm? I am not going to fight, I am practically weaponless right now. That dart was the one of the only few ones I had." He closed his eyes for a moment. "In retrospect, I probably should have brought more. No matter. There are three of us, and three of them. Do you get what I am saying?"

"We're Black Shucks." Clive cut in. "We _are_ the wolves! I'm not afraid of the three little pigs!" Shoving Ravendor aside, Clive moved to the front ranks once more. "Enough of just standing here, lets go on and attack!" He pointed forward with his switchblade hand, like a captain giving his unit the order to charge. However, Andrew and Ravendor did not move. Both of them looked away, and Andrew chuckled a little. Clive glared at him as if he had just been called a name, heated and geared to fight. "What's so funny!" He exclaimed.

"I'm not gonna attack something that hasn't attacked us first, Sanga. That makes _us_ the bad guys. I don't wanna be a bad guy, I wanna beat up the baddies myself." There was logic to the large boy's bumbling words, so Ravendor took his side and nodded in agreement and approval. Andrew looked at the monsters again and blinked. "How do we know they ain't friendly happy monsters, huh? They'se might just wanna say hello."

"I don't think a happy monster can look that hungry." Clive argued with one eyebrow lowered, gesturing carefully to the monsters that were drooling up a storm. Prior to Clive's words, one of the orcs hesitantly stepped forward. Clive ducked behind Andrew again in heated shyness merged with contempt. It started to smell Andrew up quite energetically, paying special attention to the boy's front pocket, where a half-eaten bar of chocolate was hiding, part of Andrew's 'Battle Rations'. Pushing into the pocket with its nose, it speared the treat with one of its tusks then withdrew its head in again, tossing its head back in recognition of its achievement.

However, it could not shake the chocolately treat from its own tusks and its arms were too stubby to reach it, so close but just no cigar today. "That's mine…" Andrew whimpered as the orc flailed uselessly for the candy, wanting to snatch it back from the monster again.

"Err… don't eat it now." Ravendor advised. "It's probably all germy. Yuck."

Clive reached over and poked the orc with his switchblade, to see what it would do. "Poke." He said, to accompany the motion and the orc jumped back angrily, squealing curtly in pain from the little prick. It made the jump coincide with its next move and used the momentum on its hind legs to bounce itself forward once more, bringing one flabby hooflike arm in for a pork chop attack. Andrew was clubbed instead of Clive, being a much closer and easier to hit target than he was. Clive was safely standing underneath and behind him anyway, and Ravendor was also too far away and to the side.

Andrew was struck in the temple and his head spun from the blow, a bright flash of painful light taking over his senses for a few reeling moments. At first he didn't know what had happened to him, but was familiar with the idea of being beaten in the head, mostly from stick dueling with Clive, so recovered far more quickly than somebody with his calculating ability was apt to do. He shook his head and brushed the pain out of it with his hand, roughing up his hair a bit. Clive moved away from him now. "Owww…" He moaned, "That stings."

"It attacked first! Not our fault! Kill, kill, kill!" Clive cried, waving his switchblade like a little maniac. The motion caught the eye of another orc and it sidled up to him, wanting to know if the knife was edible or not. Clive let it taste pain a few moments later, giving it a nasty little scratch along its paunchy gut. It cried out and backed off, upset.

"They certainly don't seem too eager to harm us, do they? Seriously, I mean." Said Ravendor as he sunk his foot into the stomach of the last orc that was still unharmed. The monster's reaction was as to be expected and so Ravendor withdrew and then counterattacked with a shin kick, doing no real damage but managing to knock it off balance a bit. The orc pinwheeled its arms in abject surprise and then righted itself again, snorting in disgust. Ravendor noted this. "Let's take them out." He said, raising his small fists in almost a laughable gesture of aggression.

Andrew would have laughed at him if he had had the time. The orc that had hit him seconds before thrust forward with its entire body and tried to slam him out of the way, the boy pressed against sour hog-sweated skin. Pulling back, he stepped onto the broken glass and worried that the material might slice through the thin soles of his shoes, gouging the bottoms of his feet. That would hurt a lot more than what the orc could do to him, he surmised. Instead of backing down ever further, he pressed himself against the monster's ample gut and pushed in the opposite direction, hoping to force the orc backwards and away from the glass. Andrew smiled a wide dumb grin. The orc's tummy was almost like a giant pillow, and apart from the stench, it was almost pleasant to lean against. He took three straining steps forward, gaining ground. Good, he was not standing on glass anymore. Time to act.

Digging his heels as best as he could into the crystalline floor, Andrew lashed out and buried his clenched fist into the sagging flesh of the squealing orc, feeling as though he was trying to hit a blubbery water balloon. The orc cried out, but not from pain, it was more like sheer surprise and anger. Andrew tried to pull his fist away but found it was stuck in the many layers of sweaty quivering flab, sucking his hand in like a sponge. He tried to pull again but failed, and, realization dawning upon him, Andrew screamed and attempted to run, getting no further away from the beast. Grunting, the orc lashed out with a meaty fist of it's own and swatted at him for a second time, only clipping his ear and ruffling his hair.

Clive saw Andrew's predicament and his mind yelled at him to offer his friend some help. Running towards the orc, Clive leapt up and latched onto the orc's shoulder, feeling it writhe and squirm in time to Andrew's attempts to pull himself away. An idea flashed through his mind and Clive snatched at the melting candy bar congealing on the orc's tusk, removing it with one deft swipe. "Have some chocolate!" He screamed and mashed the treat into the eyes of the monster, rubbing it into the orc's face and smearing it down it's long drooling jowls.

Burning gunk ground against the creature eyes and it howled in refusal of the pain, trying to wipe at its eyes with its tiny little arms. Andrew took this moment of distraction to relax the tension in his hand and pull his arm out slowly without meeting any catch. It had been afraid for a few moments there that when he would pull his arm free, his entire hand would be gone. A ludicrous fear, but it had startled him nevertheless. Clive unhooked himself from his perch and slipped down onto the floor again, concern in his eyes. "You alright?" He said.

"Fine and dandy, 'Sanga." He replied, opening and closing his fist a few times, in reflection. He seemed fine.

Clive smiled, then tossed Andrew his knife. "Punch it again." He advised. "But this time, hold the pointy bit in-between the fingers in your fist. See?" Nodding slowly, Andrew obeyed. His big hand fit over the switchblade's handle and there was easily two inches or so of gleaming mental between his index and middle finger, making his punch twice as powerful. Andrew thought for a moment that he could carve pictures into tree trunks with his hand like this, but then focussed himself back into the task, pardon the pun, at hand.

Ravendor and another orc were squaring off in a place close by to the other two, big slathering monster on one side, small dark-haired boy on the other. He gulped down a breath to calm his nerves and took a good look at the thing he was about to go up against. _Dear Lord…_ He thought despairingly, almost sardonically, _I am going to get flattened…_

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to pick on somebody your own size?" He challenged the monster, "Like, say, Faluna?" Ravendor cracked a worried smile at his own wit and then took a step backwards. "I am warning you… I… I'm tough!"

The orc, of course, could not understand english but got the idea that the small creature was crying out in fear. The pheromones in the air certainly seemed to suggest that the creature was afraid. And so, it strode forward, unperturbed.

"Hi... YA!"

If Andrew's punch had had the power to at least stop one of the orcs in it's tracks, then Ravendor's punch had the similar effect of swatting a fly with a goosefeather. The boy's fist had been shaking against the orc's skin. Ravendor's head was bowed, shamed. _If I only had some more darts, or my peacemaker, I would have torn this thing to shreds… _Grunting in intrigue, the foe cocked it's head and looked inquisitively at the boy, not feeling that the boy had attacked.

"Luh… luh…" He backed away more, withdrawing his fist. He looked up and smiled in fear. He was trying to say something but the words were catching in his throat, making him stutter.

Clive turned his head to see what Ravendor was doing. He saw that another orc was stalking him from the side, the two of them drawing the boy into the scattering of dangerous broken glass. Ravendor didn't seem to be noticing, seemingly hypnotized by the beast in front of him. Clive found his voice and called out to him, trying to break the spell. "Swanky be careful _there's glass over there!_"

The green-haired boy's words were like a kick in the butt for him. "Luh… luh… _Leave me alone!" _Ravendor cried out as he broke free and tried to get as far away from the orc as possible, a particularly large one trailing him from the side. He ran, and the two followed. There wasn't much room for him to run to in the place they were in, he was restricted to circumnavigating the perimeter in a panic, hoping that his stamina would outlast the stamina of his enemy. His large medical bag banged annoyingly at his side as he ran, and Ravendor briefly thought for a moment about discarding it, but was unable to. Their treasure was in there.

When Andrew punched the orc again, he had been expecting a similar result like last time. His fist would push inside as far as it could go until he couldn't force it further anymore, the stretched skin taut against his thick knuckles. This time he forced through but the knife between his fingers cancelled the tautness, shearing through the orc's thick layer of skin. The monster squealed, feeling a burn. Fluid trickled along Andrew's hand, hot, like warm tomato soup. The orc's body trembled and shrunk around the boy's fist, pulling away just as Andrew had pulled away before.

His hand was streaked with gore. Andrew looked at it with wondrous fascination. He started to wipe it off on his shirt, knowing from dozens of nosebleeds that blood would go sticky and then flaky after awhile, and he didn't want that sort of gunk on his moderately grubby hands. He heard Ravendor yell and glanced over to him just as the boy lost his footing on a shard of glass and slipped over onto his stomach, landing with a fairly painful thud. He hadn't landed on any glass and hooked his arm out of the medicinal bag he was carrying, using it like a lever to pull himself to his hands and knees. He coughed hard, breathing a little heavily from his exodus from the two tailing monsters. The impact had knocked most of the air out of his lungs and he paused a moment to gather it back.

The orc running slightly from the side braked and nearly skidded into him from it's badly calculated rush. Ravendor put all of his weight into his left arm and leg and swept his right leg out to make contact with the orc's crotch, putting as much strength into the motion as he could. Squealing in pain, but also as a signal to its friend on the other side of Ravendor, the orc currently unhurt by the children so far brought one meaty fist down onto the back of Ravendor's head in its pork chop attack, bearing a power almost as potent as a policeman's baton.

The boy went down smartly and easily, onto his face. He hadn't even cried out in pain, he had become unconscious even before he had had the chance to scream. Rolling him over onto his back by pushing its snout under the boy's body and heaving, the two orcs started to sniff him over, checking to see if he would make a tasty meal. Andrew saw all of this happening, silently remarking on how short a time all these things had taken place in. He wrung the blood off Clive switchblade by wiping it off on his shirt, and anticipated Clive making a grab for it as soon as he opened up his offering hand to him, knowing that Clive was going to do something about the two orcs appraising his older brother.

"Leave him alone you _bastards!_" He howled, sweeping nimbly over to the body of his brother and cutting a shallow gash into the flank of the monster closest to him, as easily as cutting a strip of bacon from the haunch. Blue eyes blazing, he stepped away towards the wall as the orc turned towards him, uttering a low oink mingled with the sound of experienced pain. Clive grinned like a tiny little deranged pixie. "I'll stick you with this knife, you _pig_."

It began to advance. Clive welcomed the challenge. It was slow and ungainly, he could easily see and move away from each pork chop attack. This made him unable to worry about his growing predicament. However, his foe was relying on a different tactic of its own, slowly and surely making Clive dodge his way into the blue crystal wall. When Clive felt his back press against the cold hard surface he slipped to his right, to escape and move into better territory, but the other orc was blocking his exit with its large sweating body. Shit! Clive couldn't stop moving now, not after he had begun to run.

The orc smacked Clive upside the head and the boy reeled from the blow, pressing his hand to his nose and intercepting a gush of blood from a strong nosebleed and feeling his legs start to buckle, sliding down the wall. The knife fell from his relaxed fingers and dropped between his feet. His head hurt from where it had bounced against the strong crystal after the attack, now Clive looked up at the creature about to assault him again, nearly gagging from the foul disgusting smell of its odor. The creature had both of its hooflike hands scraping against the crystal wall, using the surface to keep itself upright. A gob of drool dripped from one of the monster's tusks and splattered upon Clive's cheek, and by then, the boy had had enough.

__

No! Not today!

He rolled to the left and grabbed a large sliver of glass that was resting nearby on the floor, desperate yet fearful that he might cut himself again. His little arm whipped around and thrust out at the monster's huge gut, piercing it as deeply as Clive's inherent strength could handle it, just like Andrew had done. The crystal glass was remarkably long and cut through deeply into the orc's flesh, serrated edges catching into the body mass underneath. Clive felt a bead of his own blood run down the glass and his hand, made by an unwise grip. It stung, and Clive would have cried, but he was too busy with other matters to be distracted by pain at the present moment.

The orc squealed, its body pierced. The large mass of flab at its front protected its internal organs from the glass and had saved the creature's life, but pain ripped through its system and the orc lurched backwards, landing in a supine position and flailing its four stubby limbs wildly in the air. No blood oozed from the wound, there appeared to be too much fat in the way. Clive raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on the small un-bandaged cut the glass had made, numbing it very slightly. The orc's squeal did not lessen and the little boy shrank away from the sound, cringing.

"That ain't a bad idea!" Andrew shouted from the other side of the room, barely fending off an orc of his own. He tore a strip off his shirt and wrapped the material around one fist, grabbing a long and thin sliver of glass and then holding it like a knife blade. The orc had heard the squealing of its brother and backed down a bit, eyeing the crystal glass warily. Ravendor was still unconscious on the floor, a bruise forming on the side of his face. So now it was down to two against two, and even Clive seemed to be a little out of it right now. Things did not look good.

Three shots were fired from the entrance of the room, the crack of the fired weapon echoing in the crystalline area. Everybody in the room flinched. The first bullet hit Andrew's orc in the side of the head, ripping through the creature's skull and swiftly ending its life. Andrew watched the orc being violently thrown to the side before his eyes, squealing in surprise and then landing and growing silent on the floor. The second and third shots knocked down the orc staring dumbfounded at what Clive had done to its allies, and the one flailing wildly on the ground. It was fascinating to watch those large clumsy bodies tense, then go lax. But the sound of those gunshots, they had been the loudest and most startling things of all.

Horatio stepped into the room, lowering his ARM. He saw the broken glass, the bleeding dead monsters, and the three boys. "Jesus Christ." He breathed, then turned to outside of the room and shouted out into the corridor. "Professor! Professor Berlitz! They're in here! One of them looks hurt!" The barrel of Horatio's ARM was smoking as he slid it back into its holster. That was what it was. A _real _ARM, not a child's toy. To Clive, Horatio was beginning to look a lot like an avenging angel. The adult drifter stared down at Clive. "Are you alright, son?" He asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"We… we… we… uh, uhh…"

Clive opened his mouth to say something, but then suddenly burst into tears.


	7. Out Of The Looking Glass

The boys left the battlefield in disgrace.

They cleared the three children out of the room and back into the long crystal hallway, to get them away from the monster corpses. Berlitz thought that they wouldn't be as traumatized as much if they got them away from the area, post haste. To the kids, it didn't really matter, the corpses weren't disturbing to them at all, no different to the dead cats and birds that were run over by carriages in Little Twister on a frequent basis. Still, they did what the grown-ups said, because they were already in quite a lot of trouble.

Injuries were bandages with care, and the bandage around Clive's hand was redressed, in case Ravendor had not done it right. He felt that it had been done right, but also didn't argue. He seemed to be in far too much trouble to argue now. They used the medical bag for the treatment that Ravendor had brought with him, but luckily did not notice the 'treasure' that had been hastily stored in there. To them, without taking the close looks that they should have, they were just tiles of ivory stone. Clive had forced himself to stop crying when he noticed the almost sympathetic looks the older drifter was giving him, as if he was watching a young child throw a temper tantrum.

Horatio set Ravendor down on the ground, onto his back so that the child to continue to breathe properly. He was limp and lax in the drifter's hand, most definitely in an advanced stage of unconsciousness. But he still had a heartbeat and a pulse, so whatever the orcs had done to him could not have been fatal, merely painful or shocking. Horatio gently tapped the boy on the cheek, a mild attempt to wake him up that was received with no response. Well, let the boy sleep if that was what he really wanted, the bruises that were fading into existence certainly warranted a time-out period for them to flourish. He'd just leave the boy here until they were going to move again.

Andrew had a dumb, yet serene smile on his face, looking down into the corridor whilst the adults were doing their work. The old man Berlitz reminded him of something he wasn't quite positive about, but the strange feeling was a pleasant one, so he left his train of thought at that. He thought this place to be a very pretty one, a place he should come to often, if it were possible. The only thing he didn't like were the large smelly oinkers that had attacked them, but now they were gone, or perfectly still, at least. Just like Swanky was, except he didn't have the red stuff coming out of him just yet.

"I'm sorry I cried so much." Clive said meekly, his head throbbing somewhat from the pressure of his tears. He didn't like it, it really hurt. "I didn't mean to, it just happened. I'm not a baby. I'm not." He raised his little bandaged hand, showing it to Horatio, like it was the proof of some great feat. "Look. It hurts, but I'm not crying about it, not no more."

On his knees and still tending to Ravendor, Horatio looked up at the little wisp of a boy and grinned sunnily at him. It was a really funny and cute show of courage, now that he thought about it. "Babies throw up on themselves and shit their pants, and kids get hurt and cry. Adults get hurt and cry as well, so there really isn't much of a difference. You potty trained, son?"

Clive turned bright red. "Y-Yeah! Sure I am!"

"Then I guess you ain't a baby, then." Horatio replied, simplifying matters for the boy. He kind of liked this kid, he had a pretty wicked brand of spirit in him to be able to walk out of a life-or-death battle like that and only shed a few bitter tears. Or perhaps it was for another reason, he was just to young to understand what was going on around him. Either way, Horatio was taking a shine to this kid, who looked so much like a forest sprite that it really wasn't funny. "Can ya tell me what happened in there? Or anything else that you can remember?"

What had happened was beginning to look more like a smeary blur in his memory, but he pulled out of his mind whatever he could muster. "I wanted to help an' I came here to follow you and the old man. I found Swanky, then he yelled at me, then Mongo ran away, then we found him, and we walked down here, and I opened the door, and I went in and there was a big bug, but Swanky got rid of it. There was an angel in the corner an' she was sleeping, see, but we woke her up with a star and she looked at us and the mirror broke and big pig things came and we fought them! Mongo got one and they got Swanky, an' I was gonna stick 'em with my knife but then you came. I couldn't do nuthin'…"

"They smelt really bad." Andrew said dreamily, still looking down the corridor. "Like feet and mud. Feet in mud."

"I really am quite disconcerted." Berlitz frowned from his place in the group. "I was specifically informed that monsters did not inhabit this particular ruin. Were Alexander and his sources mistaken, or were we led to believe that that was so? I do not what to believe in." He thought for a moment. "No… The Iscariot family has great honors when it comes to telling the truth. Lord Iscariot always kept his word and backed up his statements with cold honest truth. I do not know if his son shares the same qualities, but until I have seen proof that this isn't so, I shall continue to believe in the virtues of that family."

"The Iscariots." Horatio said bitterly, ironically. "The kings of Sin City. We're really working for them?"

"That's right!" Clive chirped, spreading his arms. He didn't understand the conversation that well, but wanted to add his voice into it anyway. He couldn't stand being ignored for too long. "The big cheese! Alex-ander Iscarryot! He's gonna pay us big!" It felt great to be able to say that out loud, Clive felt like the hand of God itself was backing their merry little crew.

Berlitz sighed. "Let us get out of this hallway at once." He ordered. As the leader of their group, it was taken like a strict command that the boys understood to follow, despite Clive's inner quibble that obeying the pigeon man was like bending to the hand of the law.

"But the treasure…" He began.

"No." Berlitz said sternly. "We go, now."

Andrew walked quietly along with the other adults, but Clive was being forced to hold Berlitz's hand, the child pouting sulkily. The last one was still unconscious and was being carried under one arm by Horatio, not yet aware that he was in seriously deep trouble along with the others. The adults seemed to know where they were going, foregoing all other little tempting paths and just sticking to the widest main one. Clive thought this was a stupid approach, who knew what kind of treasure they were passing up? Though, he supposed, they were in far too much trouble to go treasure hunting anyway.

The two adults weren't their parents, they couldn't really do much more to them than just refuse to pay them, and yes, that would indeed suck, but it wouldn't be that bad. Andrew and Ravendor could get off with something as mild as that. But what if Berlitz revoked the freedom that he had given to Clive from earlier on? What if he marched the boy back into a holding cell and back into Berkley's hands? Oh God, he hoped not. Not for the harsh conditions, and not for the hugely long time with nothing to do. No, it was for the horribly long period of having to live without his gang, his friends. Without them, who was he to depend on now?

"Are you mad?" He asked, directing his question to Berlitz.

He answered far simpler than the boy could have guessed. "Yes." He answered.

"We was only tryin' to help." Clive squeaked quietly, trying to justify his actions. "We was lookin' for treasure to give to youse all. We found some, if that helps. We… we didn't mean to get into trouble and to get hurt. Honest!"

"Nobody does." Berlitz answered simplistically, not looking at Clive. "Nevertheless you disobeyed my orders, came to such a dangerous place without permission, busied yourself with matters that did not concern you, distracted two of my workers from their duties and, worst of all, you put their very lives in danger." His tone was grave. "Do you understand what you have done now, lad?"

It sounded a lot worse when Berlitz put it that way. He wished Berlitz was yelling, if he was yelling at least Clive would have had the opportunity to yell back. Instead, his eyes threatened to fill with tears. He forced them back with a hard swallow and a bitten lip. "I… I-I'm sorry. I wanted to try my best." He managed to croak, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. Berlitz didn't reply. Clive looked at Ravendor, who was still completely knocked out. He didn't look like he was going to awaken anytime soon. "Why won't Swanky wake up?" He asked quietly, to everybody.

"He'll be fine." Horatio replied, a little surprised at how light the unconscious boy seemed to be. "His noggin just took a grand shock, that's all, so he went on a bit of a hiatus for a little while. Just a light concussion. He'll wake up in a few hours with a headache an' some curses."

"I think we had some ice with the packs, right?" Said Andrew slowly. "Will that make the bruises go away? I got this big one on my arm, see, and it kinda sorta hurts."

"It reckon it woulda melted by now, but we packed it nice and tightly, so you never know. I could do with a nice cold drink, something on the rocks." Replied Horatio thoughtfully. Berlitz uttered a gentlemanly 'Hear, hear!' in agreement. Clive was also thirsty too, but said nothing. He wondered why anybody would want to put rocks in their drinks. Wouldn't that make it hard for them to drink?

It was a few minutes after that that they made it to their equipment near the entrance of the Looking Glass caverns. The day was not over yet, and the archaeologist and drifter still had unfinished business to attend to deeper inside, so they left the children there alone for a second time. They were fairly confident that Clive and Andrew wouldn't move again, not with Ravendor lying unconscious in their makeshift infirmary area. It was fiercely boring though, now they had nothing to do. To pass the time, they sorted through the treasure they had already found. Overall, they had five oddly carved plates of stone and one bird egg. Clive ran a hand through his messy green hair, the irritating buzzing in his head having faded into a near indistinguishable hum, now that they were near the entrance of the ruins again.

Andrew was inspecting the stone plates carefully. One had a flame carved upon it, another an intricate snowflake. There was also a lightning bolt and a shapeless blob that could have been a rock or a stone. The writing was impossible for them to read, but it looked prettier than normal writing, like the kinds they saw on notice boards and signs. This writing was loopier, more beautiful and spidery. "Do you remember the carnival that comes sometimes here?" He asked, thinking backwards to when he had seen something like this before.

Clive was existing on the same wavelength that Andrew was. "Yeah, and then there's that old lady, the one with the big shiny rings in her ears. Her clothes were pretty like rainbows, an' her big glass ball told her things." Sitting cross-legged with both his hands clasped upon his knees, Clive rocked backwards and forwards in thought. "She had cards that were like this 'cept they were paper and not rock. More colourererful too."

Andrew frowned. "Yeah. These are pretty, but one of them was really pretty. It had a moon on the front." He blinked, looking at the plates that he had, fanned out like a poker-player's hand. "I think we lost it back there, where the big pig things were."

"Damn." Said Clive un-childishly. "But we can't go back to get it. That pigeon man'd kill us if we do. We're in a lotta trouble now. I might get locked up again." Thinking on this, Clive's lower lip trembled for a second but then he steeled himself again. "Awwww… It was probably worth a lotta gella too…" He stood up, itching to go back there and retrieve the lost treasure.

There came a low groan from the infirmary area. Ravendor sat up, hissed from the sense of vertigo that the movement gave him, then laid back down again. The back of his head touched the floor and a burst of pain bloomed down his head and neck, hurting bad enough to make him want to cry. He rolled over to the side and looked over at Clive and Andrew, his vision blurred by his unconsciousness and pounding headache. "Ohhhhhhh man… I-I'm gonna throw upsshhhh…"

"Heya Swanky." Clive said, looking over to him. Andrew put the stone plates down. "The big driftery guy said that only babies throw up on themselves. Are you a baby?" Ravendor glared at him with swimmy contempt and sat up onto his knees. There was a dark bruise on his cheek, slowly turning a bit greenish, where one of the orcs must have struck him. Clive did not relent. "Well, are ya?" He pressed on.

"I'm not a baby. Nnnhot gonna throw up. Fuh-fuh… fhuck youuu Clive…" He moaned back, pressing a hand to his face. "Oh dear God… It hurtssh…"

Cocking his head, Andrew scratched at it lightly, assuming his deep-thought position. "How come you're talking like that? Did the orc hurt the noodles in your head?" He realised something. "You're talking just like Old Tom!"

Ravendor was not drunk, just considerably concussed. But it was hard for one child, who was in pain, to explain it to another. The dark-haired boy just shook his head in protest. Clive stood up. "I'm going back." He announced resolutely. "We can't leave the treasure behind."

"Don't go back there, Clive…." Ravendor said weakly, getting the hang of using words once more, though each syllable was like being stabbed in the brain. "You'll just get lost again… and then we'd have to spend God knows how long having to find you…" He smiled weakly and rubbed the back of his head, wincing as he touched his painful bruises. "How long have I been out?" He asked, unsure of the time. It had felt like, to him, like he had only been asleep for a minute or two, but one could never be sure. It could have been much longer.

Both Andrew and Clive didn't own a watch, and both were either too young or too dim to be able to tell time anyway. Ravendor would have remembered this and would have simply not bothered to ask, but the Looking Glass's buzzing and his new concussion was only letting a little bit of his brain processing through. He laid down again and giggled, stretching an arm out behind him so that his bruises wouldn't touch the floor. "We were gonna die. I thought we were gonna die. What happened?"

"Oh, that part was so cool!" Clive exclaimed, suddenly coming to energetic life. "There was three of 'em, and we hurt a few, but they was gonna eat us anyway 'cuz we was sort of losing. They were bigger than us, it wasn't fair. Then," Clive stretched one arm out in front of him diagonally and then rested his other arm over it, forming his hand into a little variation of a gun. "Bang, bang, Bang!" He accentuated loudly. "Three dead pigs. There was blood an' everything, it was sooooo gross! That other grown-up, the one that isn't that old man, he just blew them away! You missed out on seeing, Swanky, it was great."

"Do we have to be down here? Are we allowed to go outside?" Ravendor asked, completely missing Clive's smugness and almost ignoring Clive's story. All he wanted to do was _get out of there_. If he got out of the ruin, then this terrible pain would go away. He was sure of it. It had only been a small pain before, but now that his head rung with the after-effects of the pork chop attack, it was nearly unbearable. Already he was beginning to feel his eyes water from the pain.

"Err… I guess we can go out." Clive pondered carefully, then realised the urgency of Ravendor's plea. "Is your head that bad?" The older boy nodded solemnly. "Then let's go. This place is too cold and creepy anyway. I wanna go pat the horses."

Ravendor was trying to stand up, but Andrew helped him all the way. It was a lot harder going up the steps than Clive had experienced going down them, mostly because the boys were too small that the steps just too big. Clive had to sit on each step and then swing his legs around to keep himself going upwards. Andrew could have hopped up each one easily, he was big enough for it, but he had his arm looped around Ravendor's who was, like Clive, small for his age. It took longer than usual for them to reach the outside again.

"Blue sky!" Clive cried, standing on the grass. "I missed you!" He spread his arms out in a welcoming gesture, smiling.

Andrew had to squint his eyes closed as they saw the bright sunlight again, still used to the darkness inside the ruins. It was much warmer out here, everything felt more, well, _alive_. In fact, as the boy dragged his friend outside of the ruin with him, Ravendor immediately found his footing and could walk by himself, unaided. It was like he had gone through some kind of immediate recovery process. "Better?" Andrew asked, letting go.

"That's amazing…" Ravendor breathed, looking around like this was the first time he had seen the upper world before. "It's like… it feels like… most of the pain is gone. My word…" He glanced at his young leader. "Clive?" He asked. "How do you feel?"

"I feel super!" Came the cheerful reply. Remembering something, Ravendor reached into his pocket and pulled out his little hand-held compass. According to it, they were facing west. The little needle point wasn't spinning around crazily anymore, and as the boy slowly spun around three hundred and sixty degrees, the compass consistently showed the way to the northern magnetic pole. It was working again, which was good news, but it only made the overall mystery of the ruins seem more… mysterious.

"When are the grown ups coming back?" Murmured Andrew, wondering how long it would be until his next meal. "I want rabbit again tonight, with some beans and some cornbread, just like Violet makes at her food house. She makes the best bunny ever, don't she?"

"Heck yes! 'Cept sometimes the metal pellets get in the food as well."

"Of course. You just have to eat around them."

The three boys looked at the ground, then simultaneously plopped down onto the grass heavily, sighing. Clive was playing with the dressing on his hand half-heartedly. "The old man said we'd be home before dark. I reckon it'll get dark soon. So, Mongo, Swanks, tell me. What was it like to be real drifters?" Clive felt really bitter about asking this, but he had to. "You ever gonna try and do it again?"

"I'm never going in there again." Said Ravendor, firmly and resolutely. "Never, never, never. Not for all the gella in the world. 'S too painful."

"What exactly _is_ a real drifter anyway?" Andrew mused in a remarkably lucid burst of rhetorical thought. "They tell us to do things, anything they want, and we accept, 'cuz we really need the money to live and stuff. If that's it, then it's nothing, I 'spose." He nodded. "Yeah, bein' a real drifter is nothing. Ya just do whatever the one payin' yer wants. Like…"

"Prostitution." Ravendor finished up, then started to laugh. The others joined in, though they weren't quite sure what he was laughing about. The boys spent the rest of the time talking and lazing about until the adults came back, and by then it was the late afternoon and the sun was on cue to descend.

Berlitz and Horatio emerged from the mouth of the cavern, whole and undamaged. They were both pale and white-faced, more so Berlitz than Horatio, but most of all, both of them had been smiling.

xxx

Whatever it was that they had found or uncovered, they chose to not reveal it to the three children. It had a dangerous essence to it, a frightening one, and the less those kids knew about it, then better. They wouldn't have to worry about it even again, not after this day was through with.

Clive wandered around the slowly diminishing setup site, shrinking as everything was being packed up and put away. He rubbed at the pristine white bandage wrapped around his palm and hand, the small cut wound itching a little. Horatio had said that as long as he didn't move it around a lot, it would heal quickly and he wouldn't even get a scar. Clive smiled. Getting a scar would be a cooler thing than not, then he could show it off to people as a drifting wound. The little boy passed Berlitz and Andrew gearing up their two horses, the young mares grazing on the sweet green grass.

Ravendor was busy burying the dead bird he had found. He had liberated a small shovel and was trying to part the hard earth enough to create an adequate grave. He had only made a very shallow trench so far, as beneath the greenish grass, the ground as was hard as a rock. The boy wiped the sweat from his face and leant against the length of the shovel, regarding his shoddy work without satisfaction. Clive approached with a small shovel of his own, smiling. "Is your head feeling all healed now?" He asked, "Mine is, well, it was once I got away from this crystals. Didn't it feel like they was talkin' to us? I remember you said that youse heard voices in there. What'd they say, really? Don'tcha think that those two grown ups would wanna know?" Moving closer to the small depression in the earth, Clive began to dig as well.

"I believe that Professor Berlitz was already aware of it the very moment he stepped into the ruins himself. I am merely grateful that we do not have to go back there once more. I didn't like what the voices were saying. It was scary." Ravendor looked down at their work. The hole was now a little wider and as little deeper, though not by much. The boy sighed. "Keep on digging, Clive. I am going to find some stones in lieu of dirt for this burial." Nodding cheerfully, Clive continued, finding the digging to be fun. It tired out his little arms, but took his mind off the slightly stinging pain of his hand. It was going away with time, Clive reckoned it would be totally gone very soon.

Andrew came back carrying the rocks, Ravendor walking beside him. Opening his bag, he placed the handful of dead bird bones into the shallow grave. It looked a mess, but they weren't going to put the entire skeleton back in the right order, no, that would take too long. This little grave would be honorable enough. Andrew decided to say a few words. "The bird is flying around in the big sky of Heaven now, it will be happy there. Everyone say amen."

"Amen."

"Amen."

"A mens."

They covered the grave with the rocks and left it alone. It would stand there for years and years before erosion would take it away. Clive felt weird whenever he looked at it, there was a slight tightening of his chest whenever he pictured the dead bird lying underneath those hard, heavy rocks. Ravendor was looking at it too and experiencing a similar sensation. Though they never mentioned it out loud, they were both thinking the exact same thing.

It reminded them of their mother.


	8. Little Twister

(A:N: Those of you who are familiar with the character of Alexander might notice a literary quip I put into this chapter of the fic, regarding him. And if you don't, well, don't worry about it, it's rather an obscure comment anyway. I just like to have my fun. :P)

It was sunset when they returned to Little Twister. The night air was cooling and refreshing to the four tired people on horseback, and the smallest and most unfortunate member of the team, little Clive Winslett, had been punished to have never have felt the calming air, crammed back into his tiny leather prison. He had arrived in the horse's saddlebag and would also depart in kind. There really wasn't any room for him on the back of the horse, and none of the other children had elected to trade places with him. They wouldn't have been able to fit inside, anyway. Clive didn't mind, it meant he would be able to lie down and hopefully get some sleep. The saddlebag was a lot more comfortable than the others had expected, but Clive certainly wasn't prepared to say anything about it.

It had been an unusual day. Ruins, fights, mysterious illnesses, this had been the sort of thing he had dreamed of back in his little bed at home, during the hours when the moon was hanging in his window and the other two were too deep in sleep to ponder over Clive's extended periods of thought. He had been told that when one sleeps, they dream, but to Clive he had his greatest fancies and dreams when he was wide awake. Last night Clive had thought on what the day would be like, and adhering to his speculations they had found treasure, combat and the unknown.

Clive stretched out as far as the saddlebag would allow, lying in a bit of a fetal position. Did this make him a drifter now? According to Mongo, drifting was nothing, but could it also be everything? To Clive's mind, it indeed _was_ everything. The perfect life, filled with adventure. Dangerous adventure, but one had to risk everything to gain everything, as it was commonly said. Thoughtfully, Clive reached down the front of his poncho and took out his missanga, the little metal pendant cold in his hands. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't expensive, but it was _his_. One of the only things in the world that belonged to only him. The front of the pendant was empty, the back slightly engraved.

"Mama…" Clive said softly. "Do you really think I could do it?"

It read;

Helen

Winslett, est 1789.

He thought of that mother bird again, dead and buried in the wilderness. His mother was buried somewhere else, though he didn't know where. Clive liked to think that wherever she was, she was happy. And her name was Helen. Mama's name was Helen.

Ravendor unzipped Clive's saddlebag and peered inside, clinging onto the rider with his other hand. "I thought you might like some air. Is that better?" The rush of sweeter air, unflavored with the surrounding reek of sweaty leather was a blessing to Clive's senses. He propped himself up on one arm and nodded thoughtfully. His friend mistook that look for anxiety and inquired tentatively. "Oh, what is with that look on your face? Are you okay?"

Clive let go of his missanga and refrained from getting up. He might unbalance the horse if he did that, and besides, he was comfortable right where he was lying. "I'm feelin' a little sleepy, actually. I want a nap. What about you?"

The other boy smiled. "I napped in the middle of that battle, remember?" He laughed for a bit at his own failing and then calmed himself as the horses past the large sign that signified the boundary of the town lines, words proudly printed in black bold lettering; '**Little Twister, Pop. 980.**' Two short forms were huddled underneath the sign, by its foundation. They were too short to be human, unless they were very broad children, wrapped in badly crocheted linens and improperly tanned leather. The movement of them caught Ravendor's eye and he swiveled around in the saddle to catch a better look at them as they passed them by, holding his hair out of his face with his hand. "What on Filgaia were they?" He asked.

"Looked like goblins." Horatio answered from the saddle of the other horse, looking back for a second to confirm what he thought was correct. His elbow bumped into Andrew and woke him up from his absent daze, who snapped to alertness like somebody had pinched him on the cheek. He looked around for a bit, discovered that all was well, and then delved back into his inner thoughts.

"What's a goblin?" Ravendor asked without pondering his question too much.

Clive came very close to sitting up properly and falling out of his saddlebag. The only thing that had stopped him from making a fool out of himself was Berlitz's hand, which had grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him down again, deviating from steering the mount for a few moments. The green-haired boy grabbed onto this question eagerly. "You don't know what a goblin is!" He asked, happily incredulous that he had found something Ravendor didn't know about, instantly lording it over him as soon as he had the chance. "Really? Not at all?"

The older boy became flustered at the accusation, but then covered it up predictably with a front of haughtiness. He looked away from Clive and sniffed. "When _I_ was being tutored, I had no need to be involved with the _common_ people, so _there_."

Mischievously, Clive ducked around Ravendor's attack with ease. "A goblin ain't a people, it's a monster. Like those pig things from today, see? That's why sometimes desperados go out to hunt 'em down. They're green and brown and say; 'Gob, gob' and have pointy teeth where they eat little kids for breakfast and sometimes dinner, if they want to. They get to stay up late at night and not brush their teeth. See?"

"…"

He didn't need to be told that he was winning. He could tell easily enough.

"See?"

Ravendor sniffed and looked away from him.

"Shut up." He said.

xxx

The fact that the two goblins had been sighted outside the city did not seem and never did seem important to Clive at the time. Never in his life would he properly place the significance, thought he would know the results of their presence later in his life. The goblins had been running from the town, afraid that somebody would irrationally be following them with a loaded gun, as what could be a frightening reality when one was a goblin. They had left something in the town which they would not be going back for. It was probably better that way.

But this was the not story for today.

Clive had expected that he would be sent home after they got back from town, but it slowly became apparent that this was not so. They trotted past the hotel in which Berlitz was staying and continued onwards, into the nicer and richer part of town. The boys seldom ventured into this area, because this was the place most heavily protected by the police and law in the town. Besides, they easily looked out of place, poor and emaciated that they were. Clice reached up and tugged at the elbow of Berlitz's sleeve. "Hey. Hey… you're going the wrong way. Our home's back there, near the markets."

"I know." Replied the old man. "But we are not done quite yet. We all, both myself, drifters and workers are required to report back to our client. That would be Alexander Iscariot, and he resides on this side of the town. Do exert your best manners, please." Of course messiness could be forgiven at this point, as they had immediately come back from an archaeological survey. Alexander would understand that. He hoped he would understand the reason why he had unemployed such young laborers into his services. Berlitz had done it out of thrift, he supposed, but also out of pity.

Ravendor tensed behind his horse's rider. "You mean, we are actually going to _meet_ him? Sir, I…" He began to say something, then thought better of it. The young boy tugged at his shirt collar and looked unnerved. "Can I stay outside? Please? I don't particularly want the nobility to see me." He shot a warning look at Clive who understood the unease behind Ravendor's disposition. He nodded secretly.

"Why is that, lad?" Berlitz asked innocently.

"He's afraid that they'll recog- glargh!" The green-haired boy began, but was muted by Ravendor who savagely grabbed him by the hair and forced him back into the saddlebag, zipping it up tight afterward. There was a few weak jabs from inside the bag and some muffled curses, but then it died down after a minute or so. Clive did not try to emerge again, probably believing that he'd be shoved back inside as soon as she showed his face to his older brother so carelessly. Ravendor was satisfied with Clive's exit.

"What he _meant_ was that the nobility will recognise my fine charms and will attempt to purchase me like some bargain Negroid slave, merely because I have no family to claim ownership over me. The slave trade is quite proficient in this town and I do wish to remain the property of myself alone. Please understand why I don't want to take my chances with such a fate. Do you see, sir?" Lying was easy for him, he did it all the time.

Andrew offered his opinion. "One day we'll sell him and buy us some mighty fine dinner." He said, then nodded slowly. Clive answered him from within the saddlebag with a muffled sentence or two, then a short bout of boyish laughter. He had obviously told a joke, or had insulted one of the other boys somehow, but neither of them could make out what was being said.

"Poppycock." Announced Berlitz as the horses cantered up to a large luxurious estate, the Iscariot estate. "Because you have acceded to this job just like everybody else, you will be treated just like everybody else, no matter how fine a charm you may have." The archaeologist smiled bemusedly, albeit benevolently. "I highly doubt Alexander will have any interest in you whatsoever."

They dismounted and Horatio hopped off his steed first. Stretching for a moment he walked over to Berlitz's horse and unzipped the saddlebag with a bit of reservation, in case the boy inside would decide to jump out like some kind of sprightly jack-in-the-box. He stuck his hands in and pulled the boy out effortlessly from under his arms. He wasn't really much heavier than a small sack of potatoes. Clive popped out sleepily, rubbing his eyes as Horatio gently set him on the ground again. He yawned cutely and then slapped himself, in an attempt to wake himself up.

Berlitz and Ravendor dismounted the other horse without any problems. A dull thud sounded as Andrew had swung himself out of the saddle, pushed forward while he foot was still in the stirrup and clamped down there, forcing him to lose his balance and fall over onto his face. A small cloud of dust kicked up from where the boy now lay. He pulled himself up and untangled his foot from the stirrup all by himself, managing to stand. Andrew looked at the rest of his team abashed, grinning like an oaf.

"Well, shall we be going?" Berlitz asked of the others, gazing upon the mansion. "I regret that we have not a thing to present to our client, but I believe he may take our words on faith if-"

"Hold on a second!" Ravendor said, throwing up his hands in a warding gesture. "We do have some things to present to 'our client', some treasure to be exact, but we never had much time to explain this to you because you were quite busy reprimanding us for our follies. Right Clive?" He elbowed Clive in the ribs gently. He nodded smugly. The older boy reached into his medical bag and pulled out the small collection of stone tablets they had found in the ruins. He held them up for the professor to see.

Berlitz looked chagrined. "I was not aware of this."

Clive smiled brightly. "Its okay. Just… you know…" He tried to phrase what he wanted to say but then looked to his older brother for help.

"Just give us the benefit of the doubt next time." Ravendor added willingly.

"Yeah," Clive continued, "'Cause we're not as dumb as you might think."

Andrew concluded the thoughts of the children by grunting affirmatively. Horatio started to chuckle quietly, under his breath. Nonplussed, Berlitz took the stone tablets from out of Ravendor's hands, the boy offering them up to him as a gift. He studied them for a bit, ponderously, but then decided that he would make a closer examination of the artefacts at a later date. Alexander _did_ grant him that luxury and he intended to use it very well. For now all he wished was for him to wrap up this day and return to his daughter. The children seemed to be tired as well. This last part shouldn't take too long at all.

The one drifter within their party tethered up the horses as the archaeologist and the three kids filed inside the large mansion, dwarfed by its sheer size. Horatio would follow after, once he had given the horses some water. He wasn't comfortable with the rich world. They were just too snooty for his liking. To Horatio, the aristocratic world and the drifter world would always be separate.

xxx

They were ushered into Alexander's office post hate, with a minimal fuss by the manor's staff. Clive marveled at the sheer luxury surrounding them, beautiful walls made of sturdy conifers, oil paintings along the corridors with ornate glass lighting. Trinkets seeming to have come from all over the world were dotted here and there, to be showed off with pride. The place smelt kind of musty though, like its entire purpose was just to be looked at. Not much living had gone on in this place, Clive thought simply, just a lot of waiting.

Ravendor leaned down a bit and whispered something into Clive's ear. "Don't steal anything." He said. Clive grimaced, as if he needed to be told! He could stand to steal things that he needed from strangers and expensive objects from stupid people, but he wouldn't take anything from the richest and most powerful man in Little Twister. That was just like walking into the jail-house and requesting to be hung.

A trail of dust followed Andrew as he walked behind everybody else, patting it diligently off his soiled clothing. He wanted to be nice and clean for this meeting, but did not realise that the servants and butler were looking at him with distaste, as he had left clouds of dust to settle into the plush red carpets and rugs. Sometimes little clods of dirt fell off his shoes. The servants were wise enough to bite their tongue and not reprimand the boy, and even if they had, it might not have affected him very much, as he had such a dense look about him.

Alexander opened the door on them himself. He was still in his day clothes, perhaps continuing some matter or other that had delayed him into the evening. Indeed he did have a large pile of papers over his desk, but as he welcomed the children and archaeologist into the room, he brushed them all aside, making a blank space. "Welcome, welcome, do come in." He said warmly, taking a seat at his desk. He invited Berlitz to sit down by pointing at the chair in front of him. The old man gratefully obliged and the children were happy just to stand.

There was a tense moment filled with expectation as Alexander allowed a bit of time for his employees to settle into their new surroundings. Then, he leant forward a little in his chair and addressed Berlitz in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Please tell me, how did it go?"

Berlitz smiled. "Would you permit me to summarize the survey we embarked on today for you now, and I can offer you a more detailed report at a later date when I can get all my facts analyzed and in order? Then we may speak in the strictest of confidence?" He looked back at the three boys and Alexander followed his gaze. He got the underlying point readily enough and nodded affirmatively to Berlitz. If the archaeologist thought that there were matters to be discussed outside of the presence of children, then Alexander could wait for the juicer information. Best to spare the younger ones from damaging knowledge.

He was also quite curious to know why Berlitz now had children in his custody, but had the good taste not to ask. There must have been a perfectly good reason behind it. Perhaps they were Berlitz's other sons, rather than the daughter he had met a week ago. "Well then." Alexander sighed, sitting back. "Divulge whatever it is you can to me now. I am tremendously curious."

"The Looking Glass is a curious place. On the outside it appears to be no more than a subsurface Guardian Shrine for perhaps a subterranean deity, but beyond it resembles a crystalline cathedral made of an unknown structure. This crystal seems to come in various densities, from very brittle to a density almost as tough as diamonds. Of course, there was plenty of the former and not much of the latter. However, other sources of information lead me to believe that this Looking Glass is neither a Guardian Shrine nor a cathedral, that it is something else entirely. Do not quote me on this, for I am not certain myself, but I believe it to be a some type of shamanic proving ground lost ages past."

"A shamanic proving ground? What basis do you have for this information?" Alexander pried, absorbed in the mystique of this new knowledge.

Berlitz once more diverted his eyes towards the children. Clive was beginning to look bored. "I do have some basis on this view, and I will divulge to you this matter later on in private, but for now it is my opinion that the Looking Glass is a dangerous place that should be closed off to the public for their safety. Not only due to the powers that seem to inhabit within, but also for the fact that it seems to be a spawning ground for monsters."

Raising an eyebrow, Alexander looked surprised. "You were attacked whilst in the ruin?" He pressed.

Berlitz's moustache quirked. "In a sense. I was not involved in combat, but these three boys you see before you were. Can you not see the bruises on that dark-haired boy's face?" Ravendor flinched when he was mentioned but instead looked out the window, not meeting their eyes. He was probably still embarrassed from being the only one of them weak enough to be wounded by the monsters. However, as he did this, it only made the bruises more apparent to the eyes of the adults.

Alexander paused, and then apologized with a more personal air. "I am sorry. I was not aware of the dangers inherent in that ruin, and it certainly was not in my plans to allow children to be hurt. I'm afraid there must have been some flaw in my field intelligence. Still," He persisted, "At least the potential harm seems to have been minimized. I fear what could have been possible otherwise."

"We owe our thanks to Mr. Homebush, who appears to have decided to wait outside. Without his quick hands we might have lost these three, and it would have been a great shame." Berlitz intoned, gesturing to the children. "I admit I do regret bringing them along with me, yet without their efforts the results of our survey might not have been as fruitful as they are. Please look at these." He announced, and then spread the five stone tablets out onto Alexander's desk, facing him.

"Ah…" Said the blue-haired man, nodding in understanding as he looked at the ancient tablets. He looked to be quite pleased. Whatever understanding he had made he kept to himself and looked at the three boys in appreciation. For some reason he singled out Clive as their leader. He didn't know why he knew this, he felt he could just tell. "You found these?"

Clive was jolted into animation, opened his mouth to say something, but then became unsure of the politeness of his words and backtracked himself, thinking for a few seconds. Blinking a few times, he stumbled out an answer. "Yeah- uh, I mean yes sir. Mr. Iscarryot, sir. We found 'em in the crystal place. That's where I cut my hand." And he held up his hand as proof.

"Does it hurt?" Alexander pressed.

"Y- no." Clive murmured, and then stepped back, behind Andrew.

"None of us hurt." Ravendor said, uncharacteristically gruffly and with a lower tone.

"My feet hurt." Andrew said softly.

The young man behind his desk laughed. "There is a lot of variance in your entourage, Mr. Erdesparen. I'll not keep them here any longer, and that goes for you too. You all seem to be quite exhausted, and our private conference can wait until another day. Take this time to mull your new discoveries around in your head, my friend." His gaze slipped down to the artefacts lying placidly on his desk. "And please allow me to keep these here for the time being. They will not be lost or stolen while in my care."

Berlitz could not object. That decision lay with Alexander. "As you wish, Mr. Iscariot. Do you approve of everything so far?"

Alexander looked over each and every one of them carefully, touching one of the stone tablets delicately with a finger. His gaze stopped on Clive, hiding behind the larger boy. Alexander smiled and nodded. "I am delighted." He said.

xxx

When the research team had departed, Alexander sat at his desk for a long while, just smoking one of his cigars, the five stone plates spread out in front of him. They were ancient, yes, incredibly rare, yes, but did anybody in this town know, other than himself, about the amazing power that they possessed? Not likely. Yet Berlitz had not been the one to have found them, it was those other three young boys. They had proven to be far more useful than what Berlitz could have been. How interesting it was. He wondered if there was anything else in that ruin that might be of similar interest.

"Alvin, come in here." He called softly, not shifting his gaze from his newfound treasure.

A boy with pale straw-colored hair creaked the door open and walked in, his eyes downcast. He was dressed quite well but seemed reserved in his stance. He had a gold stud earring in one of his ears that glittered in the dim light. "Yes sir?" He asked. "How can I help you? Would you like some coffee, or your evening tea?"

"No, no. I am fine." Alexander said with a kindly smile. "That's not what I have called you for. Come over here and take a look at what I have." The boy did so, shuffling over to stand by Alexander's side. He looked over the tablets as well, slightly interested at what they could be. Alexander picked one up and passed it to the boy. He took it reverently, afraid that he might drop it or break it somehow. "Do you know what these are?" He blue-haired man asked, curious for an answer.

"I don't know, sir. They kind of look like pretty hieroglyphs on slate, or petrified fortune-telling cards. What are they, that is, if you don't mind telling me, sir."

"Well…" Alexander began, drawing upon his knowledge of history, "A very long time ago it was possible to invoke the powers of nature through a complex ritualistic ceremony. It worked well, but was not very efficient if a technique was needed to be used in a hurry, like, for example, conjuring water to put out a dangerous fire. The ancients were aware of this, so they inscribed the blueprints of their ceremonies onto slates like these ones, for quick and easy use. They called these slates 'Crest Graphs'."

The boy put the plate he was holding back onto the table. "Do they work?" He asked meekly. Alexander took a piece of soft cloth and wrapped up the crest graphs in it, so that they would be safe. Opening up a drawer in his desk he placed them inside with a mass of other papers and then locked it up securely with a key. He placed the key safely in his pocket and tapped cigar ash into the nearby ash tray. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. The boy knew that he sometimes went that way, so he gently placed his hand on Alexander's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Sir? Do they work? What are you going to do with them?"

Alexander turned his head and looked fondly at the boy. "I really am not sure right now. They may work, but the people of this age might not be equipped to use them. If they are, then I can't allow any old drifters to find these artifacts and use them to their heart's content. It is better that they remain safe and unused in my custody. I am curious to see whether they work, however, but that can wait until another day." He stubbed out his cigar. "It will be getting late soon, and I have had more than enough of work for the day. I just want to relax now."

"Do you need me for anything, sir?"

The older man thought for a moment. "…No, no. Why don't you go home now, Alvin, and continue with your studies? I think I would like to finish my book for tonight. Oscar Wilde just _enthralls_ me. Is that alright with you?" Alexander stood up and retrieved the boy's coat. It was getting rather cold outside.

On a rare occasion, the boy actually smiled and took the coat. "That sounds good, sir. Thank you, sir."

Alexander helped him to put it on. "Say hello to your mother for me, I have not seen her for awhile. I hope she is still well." Leaning over, he kissed the boy on the cheek. "Okay?"

Alvin nodded. "Okay." He let himself out, uttering a soft "Goodnight" as he closed the door. Alexander was now alone in his empty office, leaning lightly against his chair. He was glad for it, he liked it when all was nice and quiet and calm. Licking his fingers, he pinched out the candle flame and the room grew in darkness, the only light streaming in from the failing twilight behind the half closed curtains.

He could still see where he was going and he brushed his long blue hair out of his eyes, moving towards the source of the light, like a moth to the flame. The lights were turning on in all the buildings one by one, spreading out below his estate like a colony of fireflies coming to life. Little Twister was neither a large nor a small town, so the sky was not obscured with smoke and fumes. The light of the stars was growing above him, the light of the people flickering below him. And in the middle was he himself, Alexander Iscariot, the mediator. For him, his work never seemed to be done.

"There are so many things that can harm my most precious city, but I shall not let that danger come to pass. That is my one lonely duty here, it seems."

Closing the curtains, Alexander retired for the night.

xxx

Berlitz, Horatio and the children parted ways outside of the hotel that Berlitz was staying at. Catherine, Manna and Lucy were waiting for them there on the rickety porch. They all seemed to be particularly happy, looking like they had enjoyed their time together. The three boys were of an entirely different demeanor, tired, weary and hungry. They just wanted to get their money and go home. Berlitz was glad that Alexander seemed to be happy with his work, even if everything didn't go according to plan. Horatio was looking forward to the dinner that his wife was going to make for him once he got back home to her.

"Daddy!" Catherine cried, running down the steps towards her father. "Where did you go? Did you find treasure? Guess what? I had a lot of fun today! We played hopscotch, and stickball, and hide and seek, and tag, and we played with the doggy too!" Lucy immediately saw Clive and bounded crazily over to him, nearly knocking him down all over again. Failing this, she circled him instead, yapping and panting. This seemed to cheer Clive up some, and he actually began to look alert once more.

A thought crossed Berlitz's mind that the dog may have been diseased, but he ignored that and smiled, picking up his daughter and lifting her into his arms. He was old, getting into his early fifties by now, but he was still strong enough to pick up his little girl. "Work was quite fun, but I am always so much gladder to come back to you Cathy, my girl. I am happy that you had fun today. Did they treat you well?"

"Yes! They were really nice to me! It was just like playgroup at home, Daddy. Manna made me a sammich for lunch, then I made her a sammich for lunch. Then I drew a picture." Catherine stuck a hand into her dress' pocket to get it out to show her father, but then he gently set her back down on her feet again.

Berlitz patted her softly on the head. "Good, good." He replied, then turned towards his three employees. "Now, for you all. I am generally pleased by the results of today's study, but not exactly the means in which these results were founded on. Nevertheless, progress was made, and you stuck through with it to the end. Here." He took out his wallet and procured an amount of coins. He gave a small denomination of it to Andrew and Ravendor. "Fifty gella each. A fine reward for your age, wouldn't you say?"

Ravendor pocketed the coins almost instantly. "Of course, sir. I refuse to complain." He already had an idea on what he wanted to spend the money on, that gorgeous model plane in the toy store window. Well, that would always be his dream, but he was still nine hundred and fifty gella short. Andrew had an idea that he could afford dinner for almost a week on his earnings. That was good, he was getting hungry already.

Clive was holding out his hand anxiously, too. "What about me?" He asked brightly.

The old professor was smiling knowingly. "My dear boy," He said calmly, "I do not ever recall hiring you, so why should I have to pay you?"

He slowly lowered his hand. "Oh." So that's how it was. The royal screw-job. He was familiar with _that_ well enough. Clive shrugged, not letting it affect him. "Whatever. At least I proved my point." The money would have been good too, but life just wasn't fair.

"I had fun today. It was certainly different and I enjoyed the change. Um, except for the headache, of course. If you need Andrew and I for anything again, we live in the old dormitory over yonder." He emphasized the direction with the wave of his hand. "Just go around the back. The front door doesn't work. If any of the Padfoots give you trouble, tell them that Missanga doesn't mind." He looked at Clive. "You don't mind, do you?"

Clive grunted as a reply and shot him a look that said; 'We need all the money we can get.'

"Yes, indeed." Ravendor prattled on. "No trouble at all. Quite sorry about that whole theft thing too, by the way. Everybody has to eat, and us lads have to win our own pieces of bread, if you get my meaning, in any way that we can."

Horatio was beginning to look a little bit impatient, so Berlitz spurred the conversation onwards to an ending. "It is a cruel world that we live in, but such is life. It is growing dark. Time for us to part ways. Thank you again for your help, both of you boys." The three children didn't need much more pushing in order to make them go away. They were tired themselves and wanted to rest. Catherine waved to the three boys that were leaving, although they did not notice her doing this.

Manna got up from her seat on the stairs and brushed all the dust off her dress. Lucy shot off like a bullet, following Clive and barking. "Mah job heare is done. 'Twas a naice day, though. See ya later, Cathy."

"Wait." Said Berlitz. "You took care of my daughter all day long. Wouldn't you like a reward for work like that?"

"That's okay. It wasn't work. Ah'm not greedy." Manna answered dutifully. "You gave those bums an honest days work for once. That's good enough for me. Bye bye Cathy, drifter man, Mr. Man." She left as well, following the other three before Berlitz could form a reply.

"Good kids." Horatio said, standing next to Berlitz with his arms folded loosely across his front. "A little rough around the edges, but still good kids. It's too bad they live in this here hellpit." He turned to the man next to him. "What are you gonna do about that crystal place?"

Closing his eyes, the old man sighed. "You saw what I saw, Horatio, deep within those ruins. The practical value of the crystals in that place are too sinister, too easy to be used for evil. The fact that those crystals can control synapse activity in the brain is beyond frightening. The Looking Glass is indeed a reflective glass; it looks straight down into your soul." It was not particularly cold just yet, but Berlitz felt a shiver run down his spine

"Jesus." Muttered Horatio. "Maybe the stories those other drifters were raving about was true. I don't think you could pay me enough to ever go back in there."

"I believe I shall continue to press for Alexander to seal those ruins for safety reasons, it is just too dangerous otherwise. I will enclose the it in my official report." Berlitz breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank God those children were unaffected. If they had gone any further in, they… I do not like to think about it." He gave Horatio his pay, substantially larger than the amount that he had given his other employees. The drifter put it away with care. The professor took his daughter by the hand and ascended a few steps into the hotel. Turning back for a second, he smiled. "Good evening, Mr. Homebush."

Horatio tipped his hat at the professor and went off on his own way, walking down the street in the opposite direction to which the children had taken. He was looking forward to going home, he could smell his wife's delicious potato soup already.

xxx

"Whut happened to your _face?_ Ohmigosh! Your poor hand!" Manna exclaimed as they were walking home, grabbing Clive by the wrist of his bandaged hand and Ravendor by the hair, yanking them towards her. She was a lot bigger than they were, so they had no choice but to obey.

"A harpy tried to kiss me." Ravendor replied with a cheeky grin.

"I fed a piggie some chocolate." Clive beamed happily.

"You owe me chocolate…" Andrew said to his little companion, remembering what had happened to his treat.

Manna sighed and let go of the two brothers. "You boys…" She said, exasperated. "Girls are a lot moare easy ta get along with."

They left the main street and proceeded down a smaller and dustier one. No carriages went past, and the only pedestrians to be seen were a few tired desperados heading off to some nighttime entertainment and the barber of the south district, going for a drink. Ravendor looked at Manna curiously. "I remember now, you were with that little rich girl all day long. Did she have anything interesting in her pockets?"

The Baskar girl glared at him angrily. "Ah didn't look through her pockets, whut do you take me for, ah piece of slime laike you!"

Clive grinned. "I think that's exactly what he takes you for." He announced, walking with Lucy who was panting happily. Ravendor nodded vigorously to Clive's words, agreeing.

"You're slimier than Ah am!" Crowed the girl in rebuttal, enjoying the argument. "You're so slimy you can slide undah doors!"

"You're so slimy monsters run 'cause they're ascairt'!"

"You are so slimy that not even Berkely can keep his pimply mitts on you!"

"You're so slimy you fall over a lot."

They all started to laugh, gladdened that they were all together again. It had been a long day, but now it was over and they could get back to what they did best. Being normal average kids.

"Hey, Clive, over here." Said Ravendor as he ducked out of sight of the others and pulled Clive into a backalley with him. Although the light bruises were still on his face and looked awful and sore, there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and his low mood seemed to have gone a little while ago. He looked positively _euphoric_ over what he had to say. Letting go of Clive's hand, he held his own hands out in front of him as if he was going to grab Clive by the shoulders and shake him roughly. "I can't hide this any longer. I have a supreme gift for you, little brother."

"What's up?" Clive said on reflex, curious but not as excited as Ravendor seemed to be. The day had been a big flop for him, and though he was only young, he was cynically inclined to believe that the evening would be the same as well. He had missed out on his nap earlier in the day and he was just simply exhausted.

"Well, I felt really, really bad that that old man didn't take you seriously enough, like he took Mongo and I. I mean, I know you, Clive, I know you could have handled it as well as we could have. But you know how grown-ups are…" He was beginning to veer off the subject, so he started his speech all over again. "Anyway," He began to check his pockets for things, looking around in his dirty grey jacket, "During all the chaos in that battle and such, I swiped this. Look!" As if on cue, he found what he was looking for and pulled it out to show Clive. There was a look of proud satisfaction on the dark-haired boy's face.

"That's!-" Clive gasped.

Ravendor nodded affirmance, holding the missing stone tablet up in one hand. The carved half moon signet was shaded by the dusky light. The missing piece of the puzzle. "The grown-ups shouldn't get to have all of the glory. We need ours too. So here it is."

"You sneaky thief…" Said the younger boy, his eyes disbelieving.

"I learnt from the master." Replied Ravendor, allowing the tablet to exchange hands.

At this point in time, the moon had risen over the horizon and twilight became night. At that same moment Clive grasped the ancient artifact and held it before his eyes, a little smile appearing on his lips. Soon it turned into a gasp of wonder as the rock began to resonate in front of him, glowing a pale blue. The gentle radiance was faint in the stone, but focussed its light into the crescent branded into the middle of the crest, now appearing to be made of Looking Glass crystal. It reacted to the presence of the moon, and perhaps, to something within Clive himself, something that none of the other children had possessed.

The older boy grabbed Clive by the forearm, alarmed. "What the hell did you do!" He cried.

A look of fear emerged in Clive's eyes. From beneath his poncho he could feel something against his chest grow warm, and then hot. His missanga. "I dunno!" He replied in an equally stricken voice. "I just touched it!"

"Then let go of it!" Ravendor urged, trying to rip Clive's hand away from it. He couldn't, it felt like his hand and the tablet were becoming welded together. "Clive!" He whined, withdrawing his hand. "Stop it, you are scaring me!"

When the heat beneath his clothes reached the searing point he did indeed try to let go, but by then the act was finished. The stone tablet shattered in his fingers, becoming mere pieces of common rock. It was a controlled burst that did the job and did not harm the two boys, so soon Clive was just staring at a mound of pebble shards in his hands. "Big bro…" He said quietly, trying to let his mind catch up with what had just happened. "It broke…"

"You broke it." Ravendor affirmed, just as confused as Clive was.

"I didn't _mean_ to!" Clive retorted, looking up at the other boy. His little hand shook the pebbly dust from between his fingers and he curled it into a fist, pressing it against his chest. "You saw it, right?"

"Yeah." Ravendor agreed. "I saw it."

The heat from his missanga had stopped when the tablet had broken, so Clive fished it out from underneath his clothing, worried that it too had been broken. It was a memento from his mother, he just wouldn't be able to bear it if that had been broken as well. The small metal plate felt whole and solid to his little hand as he drew it out, but quite warm, like he had dangled it over a flame for a long time. The inscription was still there; _Helen Winslett, est 1789_, but the other side, the blank side, it had changed.

"Why, would you look at that," Ravendor murmured, impressed. "The moon from the tablet, it's been engraved onto your missanga. Look, its even glowing a little! Amazing!" Indeed it was, pulsing in the lack of light.

"That's so cool…" Clive whispered, turning it over in his hands. The warmth was leaving the piece of metal, but the crescent moon was still there. "Maybe we didn't break it, maybe we _used_ it instead!"

The dark-haired boy flashed a winning smile. "We are _such_ geniuses!"

"Hey, Missangah! Swankee! Where'd ya git off to!" Called Manna from around the corner. They must have realised that they had ducked away. It probably hadn't been from any realization on her part, she had most likely seen Lucy staring at them from the beginning of the alleyway, wagging her tail gleefully and watching with the endless enthrallment that a large dog bore.

"Let's look at it more tomorrow." Clive suggested, tucking his missanga safely under his poncho. He ran to the edge of the alleyway and peeked around it, seeing Manna and Andrew there, the former looking impatient. They were almost home. "Sorry!" Clive shouted to them as he made his way back to the group, Ravendor following him from behind. "Swanky and I really had to pee and it couldn't wait."

Manna blinked once and dismissed with his excuse. "Whatevah. Let's git going."

Andrew had his head down and was walking slowly back to their home, hands in his pockets. Clive, walking beside the larger boy, touched him comfortingly on the shoulder, smiling up at him. It was nearly too dark for the smile to be detected, but Clive smiled anyway. "Don't worry, Mongo," He chirped, "I think you did great today. The pig things would have gotten us if it weren't for you."

"You really think so?" The boy replied sheepishly, smiling back a little. "Alexander didn't bother to say anythin' to me." He had been paid as much as Ravendor had been, but because their boss had not noticed him, he felt far more diminished than the rest. Andrew felt that he had done more than his fair share of work today, he felt tired enough to know that as true, but the recognition as well as the money was what he had chiefly wanted at the beginning.

Clive nodded. "Yeah. It's not like Swanky and I did anything special. I wasn't even 'sposed to be there, and Swanks just complained and ran away from the monsters. At least you _tried_ to fight." Clive nodded at his own opinion and then changed the subject. "So what are you gonna spend your gella on? It'd feel weird, y'know, havin' money and not havin' to worry about someone chasing you down the street for it."

The three of them were walking down their own safe alley now, close to home and darkened by the dusk, but they were not afraid of such shadows, not after all they had faced in the day. Ravendor had climbed up onto a ridge of crates and discarded garbage and was trying to balance as he walked, attempting to keep up with the other three at the same time. Andrew looked as thoughtful as he could possibly be. "What _can_ you buy with gella?" He asked, wondering.

"Well, food for one…" Ravendor cut in despairingly, his voice a little weak. "I am starving, Andrew. Honest to goodness _starving_…"

"Pay for your own food, Swanky." Clive answered with a giggle, hoping that Manna would have some food for them when they got home. If not, they all had the money to go out and buy their dinner, though they felt a little too tired to do anything more than go home and sleep. Ravendor groaned softly and lost his balance on purpose, falling into Andrew's arms. The boy held him for a second, then dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. "Hey careful!" Clive called out, "Don't break the treasure in that bag!"

Ravendor rolled over and stood back up, dusting himself off quietly. "Oh, of course." He muttered with a smile. "The egg. Can I eat it? Please?"

"How d'ya even know you _can_ eat it?" Clive questioned. "It could be a lizard egg, or a goblin egg, or a goat egg." They had entered the courtyard of their hideout now, a small lantern flickering in the window of their dormitory. Manna must have gotten everything ready for them earlier. Clive absently wondered how her day with Catherine had gone, and whether she had had fun or not.

"I am so hungry that absolutely _anything_ sounds appetizing right now." Ravendor moaned, slumping a little before he blinked and added; "Wait a moment. Since when did goblins and goats lay eggs?" Clive giggled and did not say anything more. Ravendor sighed. "Maybe in your muddled-up little head, Clive." He answered.

They went to bed early that night, right after all the stars had come out to shine. It was with a tiny little exhausted yawn that Clive Winslett crawled into his snug orange hammock and pulled his warm woolen blanket over his body, curling up for a long night of rest. Andrew just thew himself on his bed and laid like that until he fell asleep, the chances being that he would wake up on the floor and on the other side of the room by morning. He rolled over a bit to grab his teddy bear and nearly suffocated it in his big beefy arms, a contented smile spreading across his face.

Ravendor came into the room a few minutes later, after having told some of the younger children a bedtime story to help them sleep. Yawning, he wandered over to his bed, shoved off all the clutter that was scattered across its surface, took his glasses from out of his pocket and placed it on his bedside table, then fell onto his bed and easily slipped away into sleep. He was too tired to even notice that he was sleeping on top of his favorite model airplane.

Although he was tired, Clive still found it a little difficult to go to sleep. His mind kept on flashing back to how pleased Alexander had been when Clive had done a job well done, and similarly, it had made him feel incredibly useful to be able to accomplish something like that, even when Berlitz, the pigeon man, had told him not to go. Berlitz and Alexander had both been smiling when the job had finally been done. Clive discovered that he liked that image, very much so. It made him feel good and warm inside.

He looked at the soft glow of his newly enchanted missanga for a minute or two, pulling the covers up over his head so that he was the only one who could witness it. It felt like a nice comforting nightlight, a symbol of safeness. Clive searched around and found his green bunny toy, using its large plush body as a pillow. He closed his eyes, smiled, and went to sleep.


End file.
